Hidden
by TempeJill
Summary: Brennan never had the chance to leave. Booth never had the chance to fix what happened that night outside the Hoover. Because on May 6th, 2010, she was gone. And there was nothing they could do about it.
1. Prologue

**A/N: ****UPDATE: No more waiting! This story is now being updated regularly, starting today, May 6th 2011.**

**_Original note: This is the start of a very long journey. One I've been working on for a very long time. Before reading, though, you should be aware that there won't be an update on this for quite some time. That's because I want to ensure that this story is published before things majorly change on the show, and I suspect that will happen very soon. Also, it's because I have a bit of a poetic side that finds a time gap between this prologue and the actual story to be fitting to the storyline itself. _**

**Some minor warnings- This story will deal with some challenging subjects later on, but I don't want to give too much away. Just be aware.  
**

**That being said, I know this first chapter is short. But it is meant to be. I hope you enjoy.**

**Timeline: This is meant to be about one week after The Witch in the Wardrobe. The rest of the story will have no correlation to events that happen after this episode, or anything from season 6. Therefore, this is the place to be if you are as frustrated with the current season as I am. They never left for Maluku/Afghanistan and he never met Hannah.  
**

* * *

_Prologue- Fireworks_

_May 6__th__, 2010_

Footsteps pounding.

Later, it would be a sound that was all many could remember from that day. It would be in every witness testimony, in every report, at the top of every file.

There was no face attached to these feet. No height, no weight, no eye color, no outfit description, no license plate, no car make and model. There was, almost quite literally, nothing.

Nothing but running feet, tearing their way around corners and down the staircase. Like a phantom, one woman later recalled. A few neighbors had opened their doors, stared out in surprise and looked both ways... but saw nothing. Almost like it was a ghost, who could only be distinguished by a single sound and nothing more.

To the man who belonged to those feet, it didn't matter what people believed. It mattered that he was invisible. That no one knew who he was, what he wanted, or why he chose to do as he did.

And by the time that the reason for those footsteps became clear, it would be too late for most of the occupants of the second floor of 415 Elmsworthto care. Not that day, at least. A young man in the corner apartment would be one of the few to get away completely safely, visibly shaken by the events that had occurred.

The most important aspect, however, was the occupant of a single apartment: the target of it all, the reason for the intricate plan, the explanation for why those running footsteps were only heard well past the point where the occupant would be able to hear.

When those footsteps eventually hit pavement, when they brought their owner into the vehicle and the tires smoothly pulled into traffic without skidding, without any remarkable indicators to draw attention, there would be no doubt in his mind that he had succeeded in the task he'd set out to complete.

And when he parked in front of a quaint little diner, he would take a comfortable seat in a booth that seemed no different from the others, except for the fact that it was regularly occupied by a couple who were well known by every member of the staff... something he knew only too well.

This customer, his heartbeat thrumming merrily in his ears and his feet comfortable in their gel-soled shoes, would order his coffee with a soft and polite smile. His eyes would crinkle at the edges, but the hardness in them would send the waitress away sooner than on a normal night.

It would be as he raised the coffee to his lips for the first sip that the air would crackle suddenly, and the ground would give a slight shudder. The glass of the window beside him would shake, just a small fraction, and in the distance... smoke would rise from the scene of his victory. He would picture the flames, racing up to the heavens, and he would think of fireworks and celebrations.

Because he had won, and the world would never be quite the same.


	2. Spider Webs

**A/N: Welcome everyone :) This story is very dear to me, and has been a huge part of my life over the last year. It is not finished yet, but I have a great deal of it written and ready to go. Updates will be around every other day or so, depending. **

**Any and all feedback is hugely appreciated. This story has been a huge deal for me, as a writer and just as who I am... and it's probably the largest endeavor I have taken on in writing, at least before I began In the Worst of Times, which threatens to rival it.**

**I hope if you are here, then you are in for the long haul. The chapters aren't as long as the ones for ItWoT, but I think they are decent length. Also, if you haven't checked out ItWoT, and you find yourself intrigued by this one... maybe you might like to give it a try. It does share a lot of concepts with this, namely angst in very large portions, and a lot of facing down issues for both Booth and Brennan.  
**

**Beyond that, though, here goes everything I've got. Buckle your seat belts.  
**

_**Part I: Shadows**_

_Footfalls echo in the memory  
Down the passage which we did not take  
Towards the door we never opened  
~T.S. Eliot_

_Chapter 1- Spider Webs_

_May 6__th__, 2011_

The rain had finally come to an end, leaving droplets to fall sporadically off the edges of the roof, or to cling desperately on to the last hold they had found. A spider web visible out of a small, dusty window was covered in the glittering drops, sparkling like diamonds in the crisp and sunny air. Just a faint chill of wind disturbed the tendrils and their passengers, and the spider was no where to be seen.

Through the dirty glass, a woman glanced up and stared into the faint sunlight, a sigh hovering on her lips but not quite making its way out. Rain or shine, it didn't seem to make any difference. The world was still a far and distant place that she was allowed to visit, to walk in, but not to actually participate in. Not truly, anyways.

This was supposed to be her home, though, and that was a fact that had never become quite real, despite all the decorations that she had put up, despite all the ways that she had attempted to make it feel as much her own as she could. Something always wasn't quite right. It wasn't that anything within the walls was missing... it was more like a feeling was missing from the air, from _her_.

A small television set sat in the corner, on a rickety desk. She hadn't seen a reason to get something outlandish, something that would only remind her of someone that she no longer knew, that, according to every official document, according to her very name, she didn't know at _all_. She had never known any of the people that she dreamed about, because they were precisely that. People of a dream.

Her throat begged to just let her scream, like it had for ages. She wanted to shout her problems to the world, tell the truth for _once_... just let it all out. Get everything out there so that her life could fall wherever it would. She didn't want to be hidden in shadows, lost forever more. She suppressed the urge, though, like always, and silently, stoically, clicked through her emails.

_Need the new chapters by Friday. You're doing great; keep it up. And keep an eye out for the appearance on this morning's news. Chloe is doing an excellent job with the publicity; she wants to have another chat soon to figure out the latest details you've come up with. I look forward to reading the next section myself. Gina._

She let the sigh escape this time, even though it was soft and hardly noticeable, and leaned back, resting her head softly against the chair as she breathed in and out. The exercise calmed her, as it always had in moments of stress, and she shut the page and found herself staring once more at her own typing.

Ghost writing was an experience she thought she never would have gotten used to. Changes were necessary, and that had taken some time to become familiar with. According to Gina, the characters needed to not be _perfect_, not the same way as they had been written before. They needed new things that distinguished them as belonging to a new writer. Not much, so that old readers weren't pushed away, but just enough that the change was noticeable and it was clear that someone had taken over and was working hard to capture the characters in a similar way to the old one.

It had never seemed right, during those early months, but now she felt she had it to a near science. The characters were hers again, as they had always truly been, and she wrote them easily. The only connection she had to a world left behind was through her keyboard, through this smooth computer screen that never showed anything she really wanted to see, deep down.

How many times had she gone into her email and half-expected it to be filled, like the days of old, with notices about things that needed to be done, requests for her to be places and do things, and emails from people she cared about just checking in? And then... how many times had she woken up in the morning, and felt, just for a few blissful seconds, that everything was perfectly normal? Only... it all came crashing back to reality far too quickly every time. A large part of her wanted to stay in those peaceful seconds. Just stay exactly like that, out of touch with reality, but happier for it.

Life went on, though.

A gust of wind scraped a tree branch against the window, making her start slightly in surprise. Biting her lip, she rested her hands on the keyboard and began to type, picturing herself where the characters were. A soft smile spread across her face as she imagined the dark tunnel, the feel of a warm body just a few feet behind her, keeping close by her side as the darkness seemed only to intensify. The flashlight barely cut into it at all. The walls, only feet away, were dull and blurry when the light flickered over them. Nothing was clear.

_"You sure about this?"_

_ "Yes, I am. Come on, when have I ever been wrong?"_

He was always right, she thought with a soft smile.

_"If you had just let me shoot the rats, we wouldn't need to keep going down here. They could have told us if there was a body down here, and then we could have sent a team."_

_ "Oh yes, I'll remember that the next time I want my gun license taken away. Would you please give me the flashlight? It is mine, you know."_

_ "But you have the gun. It's only fair that I get something to even it out."_

_ "If I gave you the gun, you would shoot me."_

_ "I would try very hard to avoid that."_

Her hands rested on the keyboard as the world came back. She should delete that last section. But it just... fit. This was what the characters would say. She knew that better than anyone else.

Biting back another sigh, she pushed onwards, and attempted to lose herself again in the mystery, the excitement, the adventure. The real world... the one that didn't consist of a computer screen and a small house in the middle of nowhere.

Some days, she wished she had neighbors, just so that she might get a glimpse of someone else going about their daily life. But she wouldn't be able to interact with them... so the point would be almost entirely lost. She would be observing, as always, with no real part to play. And she had had always wanted to play a part, to not just be the silent one watching from the side lines. She wanted a lead role. She didn't _want_ this life.

Her clock beeped, and she reached absent-mindedly for the remote control, aiming at the television and jamming her finger onto the power button with a bit more force than was probably necessary. The old set flickered to life, but took a minute to display a picture properly. It was only on one station, at all times, and the remote dropped back into its designated spot beside the keyboard.

"...where a three car pile-up is blocking traffic, so you might want to find an alternative route to work this morning. Patricia, back to you."

"Thanks Dave. The weather is looking dreary this morning, but tomorrow will be far worse. We're expecting thunder showers and hail... not a nice mix for Mother's Day." She tuned out the rest of the forecast, her ears tuned to wait for the announcement that would signify what she actually wanted to hear while she continued to type, the dialogue halting for a moment as the two protagonists splashed through a puddle, the man swearing and complaining about his suit while the woman continued to travel forwards, getting farther ahead as she tried to see what was up ahead. An outline was coming into view... perhaps a dead end, or a turn?

"Now, we're live in the studio with Chloe Hazard, author of the latest Kathy Reichs mystery series novel, _Shadows of Death_. Chloe, you're following in the footsteps of a very prestigious author by ghost writing her series. How did you come upon this opportunity?"

"Obviously what happened to Dr. Temperance Brennan was horrible," Chloe began, her expression somber. "As you know, she was the widely acclaimed writer that created these characters that have just become so... beloved and real to so many people. I for one, had been an avid fan of the series for years."

"So, was it your interest in the story itself that attracted you to continue where it left off?"

"I was writing my own versions of cases long before what happened; I had always been fascinated with the characters she had created. I focused mainly on fan fiction concepts, either going off of what she had written, or writing something entirely unique with the characters. It was a hobby, really."

"And what was your reaction to the news of Dr. Brennan's death?"

Chloe sighed and looked down at her smooth tan skirt. "I was at home, watching the news, and the story came on that there had been an explosion... I was shocked, first, by the fact that it was so nearby. I've lived close to DC my entire life, and to hear of something like that happening at just a regular apartment building... it was concerning. And they showed the building, and the fire trucks, and the FBI... I didn't know what to make of it, and then... well, it was you, actually," she said with a sad smile, gesturing to the reporter she was speaking to. "You came on and announced that the apartment where the blast originated belonged to Temperance Brennan, and I just remember being... horrified. I mean, obviously it's terrible no matter who it is... but when you read the books, you feel like you get a glimpse of who a person is. It feels more... personal, when you hear something has happened to them."

The woman was nodding sympathetically before she asked her next question, "How did you come upon the job to continue where she'd left off, though?"

"Sorry, I keep getting sidetracked," Chloe said with an apologetic laugh. She dabbed at her eyes. In the small home, the woman who was turned sideways in her computer chair, watching the interview, let out a shaky breath. Chloe was quite good at what she did. If she hadn't known better, she would have been just as fooled as everyone else that was watching this. Of course, though, even Chloe didn't know the whole story. Just parts.

"Understandable. Please, though, carry on," the reporter was saying, leaning forward slightly to encourage her.

"I had written an article for the magazine I worked for, about the loss of one of the greatest authors of our day, and then... well, things happened so fast. Her publisher contacted me, and told me that Dr. Brennan's contract had included a clause that allowed for her work to be continued, following some guidelines, of course, in the event of anything happening to her. She had been in the middle of _Bridge of Bones_ when she was killed... I was asked to read through her notes, and pick up from where she'd left off. I was an author myself, of course... otherwise they never would have considered me, and I was eager to accept the deal. And, well, here I am today."

"So tragic, though, that your success came from something so terrible."

"I like to think that she would have wanted something good to come from what happened to her. Her fans loved her, and continue to love her... and I'm just here to give them a way to hold on to the memory of who she was, what she stood for, and what she did for the world while she was here."

"I think we all like to think that," the reporter, Haley, agreed with a sad nod. "Thank you for being with us this morning. Once again, Chloe Hazard." She reached across and shook her hand, and then the camera went back to the main reporter, with the signature blue background and a small window on the screen next to her head displaying a picture of the deceased author; the one from the back cover of the last book she wrote herself. Underneath it was written in curly silver font: _1976-2010_.

"Tonight, there will be a one year memorial held in remembrance of the life of Dr. Temperance Brennan, on the anniversary of the fatal explosion. Tune in at five, when we will be covering the ceremony live. Until then, have a great day."

She turned to talk to the man beside her as the camera pulled back and the news theme music began to play. The screen was dark and cold again before commercials could even start. Softly, she laid the remote back in its place once more before she turned back numbly to the computer screen.

It had gone black, since she didn't have a screen saver, but before she hit a key to light it back up and bring herself back into the world of her characters she caught sight of her own face reflected in the darkness. Shadowy, but still clear enough to make out. Her hand froze and her breath caught in her throat.

Mostly, she avoided mirrors.

She avoided anything that reminded her.

A hand traced up to touch the scarred flesh of her left cheek, where the deep lines ran like the threads of the spider web just outside her window over her once pristine skin, harsh and cruel. Never healing. They ran from the slightly curled upper edge of her lip, to her jaw line, up to her eye, where they pulled down the middle of her eyebrow and ran over the eyelid that covered her milky-blue eye, which saw nothing.

The other eye, piercingly blue and cold, seemed to glare back in hatred at her from the reflection, as if blaming someone, anyone, even her own self for it all... would make it all go away and simply never come back.

Would make the world right again.


	3. Haunted Eyes

**A/N: I was so excited with the response to the first chapter. I hope you all will continue to share your thoughts with me as we continue :)**

_Chapter 2- Haunted Eyes_

_May 6__th__, 2011_

The television set snapped off, and the woman who stood there with the remote in her hand was still shaking when she set it down on the table as if it might bite her. She wrapped her arms around herself and sank desperately into the soft cushion of her couch, shivering slightly and letting her head rotate back and forth in a repeated _no_ motion.

"Angie?"

Her eyes snapped up and her movement stopped as her husband stepped into the room, his eyebrows creased with concern.

"Hey, you alright? You look like you just saw a ghost..." he sat down next to her and pulled her warmly into his embrace. It should have been awkward at the sideways angle, but instead it felt nice. She angled herself so her head was rested on his shoulder and her back was more up against him, and then sighed and closed her eyes, his arms still tightly around her.

"They were talking about it on the news again," she whispered.

She heard him take in a sharp breath, and then let it out slowly. "It's been... it's been a year. I mean... they are going to talk about it."

"Tonight..." she said softly, pulling her head back and turning it, trying to see his face. He lessened his hold on her, and she rotated to sit more clearly next to him, with his arm still draped around her shoulders. Her eyes, nearly black but tinged with a lightness of sorrow, locked on his. "I don't know how I'm going to get through tonight," she finished, her voice breaking slightly. Somehow, she finished the statement without losing it completely.

"Hey, shh... I'll be there with you, and everyone else... we'll all get through this together."

"I just... I don't even want to think about it anymore. Every... every single _time_ it comes up I just can't even... I can't handle it, Jack. I can't cope with it always... being there. And then, I feel terrible, be-because she was my best friend, and I can't... I can't even think about her. And I don't even _want_ to think about her! All because... all because..."

"Shh..." he murmured comfortingly, and she easily collapsed into him again, burying her face in his shoulder. Reassuring hands rubbed up and down her back. "Angie, it's alright. It's not your fault... we all feel that way... and we all miss her just the same... no matter what..."

"I know," she whispered. "But she still... she was all about... about _justice_... and we never... never..." her eyes hardened, and her fists clenched in his shirt, bunching it up and holding on to it like a lifeline. "She never got it for herself. _We_ never got it for her. The least we could do, after... everything that _she_ did... and we couldn't even..."

"We will," he murmured affirmatively. "I promise you, Ange, we _will_ find the bastard that killed her."

Angela's breath hitched at his last words, but she nodded anyways, her eyes misty with unshed tears. "Sorry," she whispered after a moment, wiping at them. "I don't... I haven't broken down on you in..." she hiccupped slightly. "In a long time..."

"Hey, you can... break down on me any time you need to," he said quietly, rubbing a hand up and down her arm soothingly and leaning his head into her neck. He leaned up to kiss her lightly on her tear-stained cheek, and then once, quickly, on her lips. They stayed a moment, arms around one another, eyes locked in an exchange of understanding sorrow, and then they both came to an unspoken decision, and carefully stood together.

They had the day off... the lab had been closed. She hadn't been sure whether or not it was a good idea to agree with Cam's decision to do so—her best friend would never have wanted the lab to be closed, to have work cease entirely, for something she probably would have found trivial—but in the end she couldn't see herself working, either. How would she manage that? How would she effectively _function?_ None of them would have been any use. This was probably for the best. Murder solving could wait one more day, to honor someone that did more than anyone else for the cause they all still fought for.

"We should get going... they'll be expecting us soon, and we have to get dressed."

"I know," she said with a sigh, her eyes still blurred slightly. She blinked them a few times, and managed to give him a sad little smile. His eyes burned into hers, reading every aspect of her thoughts. She knew he was feeling the same way as she was... wondering if tonight would only add more pain, or if it would do something to help this healing process that they shouldn't been forced to endure to begin with.

"Hey, man," Hodgins said, clapping an arm around Booth in a hug before he stepped back to allow Angela to wrap her arms around the man and bury her head in his shoulder.

"How you holding up?" she asked him gently when she pulled back. Jack had moved a few feet away, and was talking quietly with Wendell.

He had aged over the past year, his hair tinged with grays, and his eyes... filled with the look of a haunted man who didn't get enough sleep. She always wondered, helplessly, if he had nightmares about what had happened to his partner. He would never admit it, but she became more sure of it every time she saw him, every time she caught a glimmer of the ghosts that always seemed to be following him around. She didn't know what it was, exactly, but she knew that if anything _was _haunting him... it was himself. Her friend would not have wanted this for her partner. The laugh lines were gone from around his eyes, replaced by deep-set wrinkles that ran across his forehead and made him look chronically worried.

"I'll hold up better once I catch that son of a bitch," he muttered, his eyes darting past her and up the street. Always on guard. It might have been a year... but he had never stopped searching. Every stone had been turned over, no matter how small... and yet nothing had been found. The frustration, and the weight of the guilt he had assigned to himself, were slowly killing him. And nothing any of them did would make it any better.

"It won't bring her back," she murmured softly, watching his face carefully and waiting for a reaction.

The lines on his face deepened and his eyes slid shut. He let out a slow breath, and then whispered.

"I know. God, Ange, I know..."

Not the reaction she had expected at all, and it made her tense with even more concern. There was a time when he would have stalked off—completely ignored the comment she had made and not spoken to her for the rest of the day to assure she wouldn't say something like that again—but now the acceptance seemed to finally be hitting him. The toll on his health was the worrisome part. Accepting it should have made him start getting better overall, start becoming interested in the world, in _living_... but instead it seemed to just sink him further into his depression and his desire to hunt down the one who had done this to them, to her, to _him_.

"Why don't you all come inside?" Cam suggested from the door.

Angela turned to him, to see if he would follow the suggestion, but he answered verbally rather than letting her wait for physical cues.

"Rebecca's dropping Parker off soon. I'll wait out here."

Cam's eyes stayed locked on him for a long moment while she seemingly debated, and then she gave a quick nod, her eyes flashing once with sadness for the friend that she had lost, in addition to the one who had been taken from them, before she waved the rest of them into her home.

Angela hesitated, turning back at the threshold to stare at the lone figure left on the front lawn, but finally she hung her head, letting her hair fall limply around her face and shielding her eyes from looking any longer before she turned away. The door shut behind her, and she let out a soft sigh that only her husband noticed. He wrapped an arm comfortingly around her.

Several tables stretched from Cam's kitchen through into her dining room, an assortment of different chairs gathered all around the odd collection. The plates and cups all matched, and Cam seemed to have made an effort at style with the different colored napkins that rotated around the table. Green, white, green, white...

Ange collected a dish from a seat down the end farthest from the kitchen—nodding politely as she passed Max and Russ—and then joined the others in their procession through the food options. Their boss had gone all out, and Angela sensed that she felt this was the only way she could give back, could show just how much their lost coworker had meant to her: by trying to do something nice for the rest of them. The gesture was nice... but it didn't make her feel too much better about the whole day. Nothing could have, though, really.

"Angela," a voice greeted her, and it took a moment for her eyes to focus and her brain to make the connection before she could stare back in surprise.

"Sweets?"

The psychologist, the profiler who had helped them so many times in the past, smiled warmly at her, his eyes bright with a mixture of happiness and sorrow... like he couldn't decide if the pain from the reason of the meeting here today should overpower the joy of seeing so many familiar faces once more.

"It's good to see you again," he said simply, his hands filled with a laden plate and a glass full to the brim with punch. "All of you, actually. I do find myself missing the FBI some days..."

Ange gave him a small nod and a sad smile. "We miss having you around."

"Listen I... I'm sorry," he said awkwardly, moving to the side to let Wendell pass behind him in the confined space.

God, how she wished people would stop saying that to her.

"I wanted to do everything... everything I could to help... to find who did this... but I just..." he stared at her helplessly, and she reached out and touched her free hand to his arm.

"I know, Sweets. We all wanted to. And we... I know that you did everything you could."

He sighed and nodded. "I just wish... I just wish I could have done more. I wish I could have solved this for you all. And instead I'm off in New York profiling for the police..." he stared out the window, which was letting in just a faint amount of sunlight. "She always hated psychology," he said. She got the feeling he was talking to himself, and then he shook his head, offered her another apologetic look, and hurried away to his seat, leaving her to follow Fisher at the back of the line.

The food smelled delicious, and looked wonderful... but she just didn't feel hungry. She only ate because it was there, in front of her, and because she felt like it was the right thing to do. Mostly, she wanted to go throw up again, like she had spent that week following her best friend's death doing. She hadn't felt so nauseous, so out of touch, since the funeral.

"Parker!" Jack had been standing up to get himself a refill of punch, and had suddenly turned towards the hallway, grinning. The boy bounded up to him, grinning as he wrapped his arms around the scientist. "Good to see you," he said with a laugh.

"I haven't been to the lab in _forever_," Parker said as he stood on his toes, staring up at the much taller man with bright eyes. Angela's heart almost broke when he turned towards her and grinned. "Hey Angela! Are you coming tonight? Dad said I could if I was really quiet and I behaved."

"Yeah," she said, fighting to clear her choked up throat, "Yeah, I'm coming, Parker."

He climbed into the seat next to her, eagerly watching as his father, who had entered almost unnoticed shortly after the child, came over and placed a dish in front of him before claiming an open seat not far away.

As he dug his fork into the potatoes, he chattered happily with her, as if he wanted to catch up on all the time since they'd last seen each other. He was just like his father had once been... so happy and amusing, eager to please and sociable... She found herself fighting tears, and nearly losing, as the afternoon progressed. She'd already cried her eyes out the night before and a good portion of that morning, avoiding Jack and trying to look stronger than she knew she was, and she didn't want to lose that composure now, with everyone around. It wasn't that they wouldn't understand... it was that they would understand far too well. And she didn't want to do that to them, when they were all so wrapped up in their own pain. None of them needed any more added on to that.

"Do you miss Bones a lot?"

The question caught her off guard, and she nearly choked on the food she had been in the process of chewing. She wasn't even sure what she was eating, having not paid attention as she went through the motions.

"You were her best friend, weren't you? That's what Dad told me."

"Yeah, I was," she said softly. Hodgins, from beside her, reached down and intertwined their fingers without looking away from his conversation with Nigel-Murray. The touch calmed her somewhat, and she was grateful for it, glad to know that he had been paying attention to her even when he seemed to not be. He was always surprising her like that, even still, after all this time. "I miss her very much."

Parker nodded thoughtfully, scrunching up his face and then biting his lip in a way that almost reminded her of Brennan herself. "I miss her, too," he said. His eyes were straying down the table as he said it, and her breath caught. His gaze settled on his father, and he continued when he looked back at her after seeing that Booth was occupied with Cam, even if he didn't look very happy with the conversation. When did he ever look happy, though? "Dad doesn't like to talk about her much. I think it makes him sad, even though he told me that you're supposed to feel better after a while. Sometimes I forget, and sometimes I remember... but he doesn't, I don't think. He's just always... sad." Ten-year-olds were remarkably observant when they wanted to be. She felt her heart wrenching for the both of them, father and son... both losing something so dear to them. Booth had lost his beloved partner, and Parker had lost the man he had known as his father in the process.

"He and Bones were very close," she said softly, careful to keep her voice low enough that Booth wouldn't pick up on the key words. The very last thing that man needed right now was to hear _his_ nickname for her being discussed. He definitely didn't need to lose the last of his control here, right now, and she knew him well enough to know that he was barely clinging to it, as it was.

"I think he really misses her."

"I think so, too," she agreed softly, glancing towards the man in question, who's eyes were staring blankly at a patch of sunlight on the opposite wall. Cam was talking with Sweets now, but her gaze kept straying worriedly back to her friend.

"I want him to not be sad anymore."

"We all do," she agreed quietly, her hand clinging more securely onto Jack's now. "I'm not really sure how we can do that, though, Park." The sadness was evident in her voice, and from the way that the boy looked at her for a moment before he responded, she knew that he'd heard it clearly.

"What about tonight? Isn't it supposed to... celebrate Bones?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding vigorously just to give herself something to do. Anything at all to distract. Her free hand was already tracing a pattern on the tablecloth over and over again. "Tonight is all about her, Parker."

"Angela?"

The hesitant tone in his young voice made her tense immediately, but she tried to remain calm as she offered him a smile and nodded for him to ask whatever it was. She was terrified of what it might be.

"Why did someone kill her?"

This time it was Hodgins' hand that clasped tightly around hers, and she guessed that he wanted to break away from his own conversation to help her, but that he knew he shouldn't interfere. And she could do this. She could.

"We work, your father works, to catch bad guys. Murderers, criminals... all sorts of people that don't belong in the world with the rest of us." He was ten; he already knew all of this. "Bad people do terrible things to good people," she said softly. "And those people don't want to be caught. Bones... Bones would have caught them."

"So they killed her?" he asked, his eyes wide.

She nodded, eyes flicking to Booth again. He was still staring off into space, lost in a memory. From the way his eyes were dark and clouded... it was not a pleasant one. "Yeah, Parker. They killed her."

"And... they haven't been put in jail?"

"Sometimes... we don't catch bad people right away. Sometimes it takes time."

"But you will, right? Catch them?"

"Yes, we will. I promise, we will catch them, and they will be punished for what they did."

The drive out to the Mall was a quiet one. Darkness was just beginning to tint the sky, and clouds covered most of it, still, as they had for most of the gloomy day.

"You did a good job," Jack said softly as they parked. His eyes were filled with sincerity on top of the deep sadness that hadn't faded at all since that morning. "With Parker, I mean. You did good."

"I wasn't... I didn't know what to tell him," she said with a slight sniff, turning away to stare out her window at the Washington Monument, standing tall and resolute. "It's not fair," she added in a whisper.

A hand gently landed on her arm, making her jump and then relax back into her seat as she sighed. Slowly, her hand reached over and then hesitantly, her fingers shaking slightly, landed on top of his and gripped it tightly, like it was her last lifeline. It felt like something close to that, at this point.

"I don't know how much longer we can go on like this. You, me, Cam, Booth... we're functioning, we're working... but we aren't the _same_. Nothing's the _same_. Not without Brennan. All I want... the only thing I want is to just... see her again. Tell her... God, Jack, she never understood, you know? She _never understood_ how much we loved her. All of us. And I..." she broke off on a choked sob. "I just wish I could... could get... could tell..."

"Shh..." he whispered, his other hand reaching over to brush her cheek and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes staring deeply into hers, burning with an understanding like no one else's could. "It's all okay, Angie... we're gonna get through this. Dr. B..." he choked slightly as well, his voice cracking, "Dr. B. would want us to get on with our lives. But we aren't going to forget her. _Ever_. I can promise that, too."

"I know," she mumbled back, brushing away a few tears that had managed to escape. A shaky sigh escaped her. "I love you," she whispered.

His hand stroked her cheek again, and he leaned forward to press a soft kiss on her lips. "And I love you. Come on; we've got the rest of this night to get through."

"For Brennan," she agreed softly, nodding as she turned away and opened her door.

That was the only thing she was sure of; she was doing this for her lost friend. Getting through the rest of today... that was going to be the challenge, though. And she still didn't know how she was going to do it.


	4. Christmas Gifts

_Chapter 3- Christmas Gifts_

_May 6__th__, 2011_

He stood at the head of the group, feeling far too exposed. From every direction, it felt as though eyes were glaring at him accusingly.

_Should have saved her. Should have been there. You let her die. You let her go. _

The whispers seemed to surround him, and he closed his eyes.

"Booth?" a voice, filled with concern, reached his ears as if from a great distance. He felt miles away and yet claustrophobically surrounded as well. When he blinked his eyes open, the world swam briefly before him, and he felt a hand land firmly on his arm, steadying him as though he had actually begun to tip to the side. Given the circumstances, it wasn't something he would doubt much.

It was Cam, he noted when his eyes managed to lock on her face. Her eyebrows were drawn together in that way that they got when she was really concerned about him, and her eyes were a shade lighter than usual, too... they got like that when she was upset and trying to put on a brave front. Trying not to cry. For a moment, he felt a wave of selfish gratitude that there was no moisture present in her gaze, just because it would have been one more strand of his sanity that he wouldn't get back from tonight.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her tone tight and controlled. Careful, as though she was talking to a lion that was standing in an open cage door as she tried to ascertain what it's next move would be. He sighed.

"I'm fine. I just... need to focus." His eyes swept the crowd again. "This shouldn't be open to the public."

"Seeley, they're here for Brennan. This is their way of showing support."

He said nothing, but she had gained a certain knack for reading his mind over the past year. She'd already been rather adept at it, but the more time he spent silent and brooding, the more she seemed to have become attuned to his smallest indicators. She read him like he was a flashing sign nowadays, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. At points, it was comforting to have someone he knew always had his back, but at other times it was just plain frustrating not to have a moment of peace when he was near her, because he knew she was watching.

"You think he's going to be here," she said softly, and he let out a heavy breath.

"It fits his profile, Camille," he answered, using her first name to match her usage of his.

She simply nodded back in response, her eyes clouded with something he had grown to hate, as well as become remarkably familiar with. It was something akin to pity, mixed with just the right dosage of empathy. It stung, not as fiercely as it would have were it to come from a stranger... but the pain was still there. It was so damn familiar, and he wished it wasn't. A year ago, he'd seen it so rarely that he barely even acknowledged it. Now it was like the plague, and it was catching from one person to the next; all it took was one of them to tilt their head and soften their eyes, and everyone else either looked away or bowed their heads... made some other sign of agreement, like he was a dying man that no one knew how to speak to.

He gritted his teeth and glared away from her, his eyes finding the tall obelisk of the Washington Monument and staying there. It was illuminated brilliantly, and the Reflecting Pool glimmered as though in a scene from a Disney movie. He wished it wouldn't. It was supposed to be stupid and cliché, but he would have preferred if the weather matched his mood and was dark and gloomy on days like this. Her funeral had been on a beautiful day, one that seemed to just promise hope and life. Birds twittered, and as if the universe was mocking him, he saw a few squirrels and rabbits hopping about in the grass on his way back to his lonely apartment building. As cruel as it was, if the world had chosen to portray his view of it, on that day, there would have been thunder and lightning, and plenty of road-kill. He saw no hope or joy, no silver lining on the few clouds overhead. No, that day he had seen nothing but the raw truth that his life was over and there was nothing he could do about it.

He lived with that truth everyday, now. It was like a labyrinth of pain... around every new corner there could only be more suffering... and there was no escape while the monster hunted him but refused to simply be done with it and let him drift into the wonderful emptiness of death.

Underneath it all, he was aware that he wasn't coping properly. He didn't need to be told so by his friends, his coworkers, and his boss in order to comprehend that simple fact. It was obvious. The difference was that he just didn't _care_.

However many times someone told him that he needed to get back to his life, that he was capable of recovery, that his family and friends needed him... it would never matter enough. He loved the people around him still... that hadn't changed because he had lost her, but it had certainly been clouded. She had been his everything. She had surrounded every aspect of what he loved in the world. She had made him feel like a better person every second that he was with her. If he could make her smile, it took away more of the guilt from his past than he would have thought possible. Her laughter, light and beautiful, made him forget everything but that wonderful moment when she was happy. She was his gravity, the force that grounded him and kept him whole and healthy. Without her, he was a man in the middle of the desert with no compass and a blank sky that refused to reveal the sparkling lights which might have saved him.

They had asked him to speak, tonight. They, of course, being the people in charge of this whole publicity circus. He had no name or face for them in his mind, but he knew that he hated what they stood for. Sure, they were doing this to raise awareness, and to preserve her memory... but they didn't understand the basic fact that they would never _succeed_. She couldn't be wrapped up in a neat little bundle and presented in a sad little speech. She was so much more than that... she was someone that had been in his life, that had colored in the darkness and blasted the music. She had welcomed others in, and shown him parts of himself he never could have found without her as his guide. It was foolish of anyone to even think that they understood her. It was almost an insult on her character, and he had barely been able to stand the idea.

"Dad!" A familiar voice broke through his reverie, and he caught a brief glimpse of Cam with a look of relief on her face as Parker burst through the crowd and tackled his legs.

"Hey, Bub," he managed, keeping his voice as light as he could. He blinked his eyes, clearing away the moisture that had begun to gather without his noticing.

"We need to get candles, Dad," the boy said eagerly, pointing hurriedly towards a crowded area closer to the base of the monument. Twinkling lights reached his eyes, and he knew that his son was right. Regardless of what he thought of this ceremony and how little it would actually mean in the grand scheme of things, he would be honoring her as dutifully as he possibly could. She might not have believed in any form of an afterlife, but he knew she was out there somewhere, and while she probably wouldn't have been enthusiastic about a bunch of people she didn't know gathering around to talk about her... she would have wanted to see him there, and know that he missed her. If she was watching him already, though, she should know that by now.

Hell, she'd probably be furious with him for the way he'd been living the past year. He managed a small smile, while Parker led him through the crowd, at the thought of what she might say to him if she saw just the state he had let his apartment get into.

_"There's dust everywhere! Do you have any idea how many parasites are probably collecting on that desk alone? And what's... Booth, dirty socks do _not_ belong on the kitchen counter! You're absolutely unbelievable!"_

Parker stepped right up and collected a candle without any help, but when Booth stepped forward to get one the man distributing them paused, frowning slightly with the candle only half held towards him, studying his face.

"Hey, aren't you-?"

He leaned forward and pulled the candle out of his grasp, muttering a 'thank you' with just a tinge of sarcasm on it before he pushed back into the crowd after his son, being careful not to let the flame go out. They found a spot next to the water, and Parker's eyes hungrily took in the huge monument and the expansive amount of water that led away from it. Overhead, the sky went from pink to purple to a dark navy. The darkness was slowly beginning to take dominance of the heavens away from the last rays of sunlight still surviving on the horizon.

It was strangely metaphorical, but standing there at the edge of the water, he felt as though he was at the verge of a great precipice, and that everything was going to change now. A year... to her, the concept might have not had any significance, but to him, the idea that exactly one year ago he had been sitting in a hospital waiting room, soaked through from the rain, his eyes bloodshot and his hair slicked down over his forehead... just waiting for any news at all and not knowing just how destroyed his world was... it was powerful. And it certainly had a grip on him. The anniversary meant something, to him, at least.

At the same time, it might have had something to do with the fact that he felt eyes on him, but no matter how much he looked around, he could find no face pointed in his direction. And yet, the eyes that bored into him remained persistently there.

And he felt, with a strange tinge in his heart trying to decide if this added to his pain or alleviated it even slightly, that she was watching him.

A set of lights flickered on, and his eyes, like helpless flies to the glow, were attracted at once to the sudden change. And just like that, they simply couldn't break away.

Several cameras were positioned at the ends of the stage, sweeping back and forth across the expansive crowd. Another row of similar equipment, manned by a larger crew, was positioned in front of the platform, far enough back to have an excellent view of the entirety of what was about to happen. Orders were being shouted, but he could only tell from the movement of the bodies and the way they waved their hands. The audience that was here for this macabre 'show' was still chattering loudly, all clutching their candles like safe-havens in the impending darkness of unknowing night.

A large framed picture of her was illuminated close to the center of the stage, slightly to the left so as to make room for the microphone stand and the place where the speakers would be. The image of her smiling face and bright eyes would be easily visible from any of the cameras aimed at that stage, while still focusing upon whoever it was that was speaking.

If he had chosen to go along with it, right now he would be over in the group of suited men and fancily dressed woman who were talking quietly to themselves next to the stage stairs on the right end. Getting ready to begin the ceremony. As it was, though, he wasn't going to break his long silence over the matter. Badgered ceaselessly by the press, by independent reporters, by horribly misguided and disgusting paparazzi flocks for the first weeks, and then months, following her death... he had grown to dislike the public in general, and their morbid sense of curiosity... not to mention their usage of her to further their careers and make quick money. They made him sick, to be quite honest, and that wasn't an opinion that was going to change anytime soon.

As the thought came to his mind, his eyes latched on to a blonde woman who was striding towards the small group. She spoke a few quick words, and then rested a hand on one of the men's arms and led him a short distance away to continue in private.

He knew who she was... how could he not? Chloe Hazard, the _brilliant_ young mind who had managed to pick up the Kathy Reichs series and push it continuously back to the top of the New York Times Best Seller List with the three books she had now come out with. In just the one year.

He had read none of them, although the first had been tempting. He knew that _she_ had been the one that started writing it. This imposter woman had been the one to finish it... but the fact that it had been _her_ who had come up with the idea, that had put it to paper, made him almost desperate to find out what it had said. No matter what she had said through all those years, he was Andy and she was Kathy. Any dialogue that Kathy spoke to his character always had her voice attached to it, and he could see every aspect of her expression as the words left her lips, her eyes boring into his.

He had told himself, and anyone that actually got up the courage to dare and ask, that he didn't want to read any of it because it didn't matter anymore, and because it wasn't written fully by her. But he couldn't fool himself forever with those lines... he knew the real reason he avoided it.

It was much like she had told him about her parent's disappearance. She had refused to open any of the Christmas gifts until they returned... and while she would have denied the psychology behind it, he knew that it was because it would be admitting there was no more chance. While those presents were sealed, while that wrapping paper remained intact and the bows perfectly positioned, a part of them still lived in it. A part of them that she didn't know about, but that existed. And the very existence was enough to sustain her, because she knew that no matter what she could always just open them and find out what it was... feel that rush of hope and love that would come with it.

She had opened them, too, she had informed him on their second Christmas as partners, when her dig had been cancelled and Parker had already spent all of Christmas Eve with him and was back at Rebecca's. He had kept her company, in her decoration-free apartment, and softly, as they sat in the silence and drank their coffee... she had told him how it had felt to pull open that paper. Freeing, almost... something that she rarely felt, let alone told anyone of.

He hadn't told her it, then, and he regretted it now, but he had felt so close to her that day, knowing how much she trusted him, to impart that small tidbit of info. And he had felt proud of her, for letting herself allow someone, even for that brief moment, behind one of her tallest walls.

As it was, that book sat on his bookshelf beside all the rest of hers. The only one to lack a signature and a neatly scrawled message on the title page, and the only one whose pages remained pristine; he had never even flipped through them. His other books of hers were beaten and battered, the pages showing evidence of what he'd been eating that day, and the covers frayed at the edges. It wasn't that he disrespected them. In reality, they were his most favored possessions. It was that he loved them. Adored them. They went through hell and back with him... they were the last window he had to her. The voice that came to him, while it wasn't quite fully hers because it was her writing... it was so similar that it could take him away just as easily, to a world of crime-solving and mystery. To a world of Thai food at midnight, and a relationship with her that he had never gotten to experience the brilliance of for himself. An alternate reality was what it was, and he was always happy to escape.

So, no, this last part of her that she had left behind... he had not opened it. She had opened those gifts from her parents because, after so long, she had come to terms. Not completely, of course, but close enough that she was mentally ready, prepared, to see what awaited her within those boxes.

He was not yet ready.

He didn't know if he would ever be.

Ahead of him, a screen was opening up at the back of the stage, and a few techies were fiddling with projection equipment. The night was about to start, and to be perfectly honest, he wasn't sure he was even ready to handle _this_.

**I wrote these chapters a while back, long before In the Worst of Times. So if you were wondering why they're so short... that's why. Some of them do get longer later on, at some point. **

**As always, thanks for reading, and I love hearing from anyone about what they think so far. I promise, we'll push away from the pure angst soon enough and get into the full-on plot. **


	5. Frozen Smiles

**A/N: This chapter is emotional; for the best effect I would suggest listening to the songs that are mentioned in this chapter while reading it. They are Blue and White by Beth Waters and Pictures of You by The Last Goodnight.**

**Also, a notice. Anyone who tells me what happens on tonight's episode of Bones will be permenantly hated. And I don't say that easily, just so you know. I am NOT watching it, and have not seen any of the past three either. I am watching them all in one big reel before the finale next week. So, again... if you ruin that for me by spoiling the events from tonight... I'll hate you. Yes, I will.**

***cough* I think my point is made.**

**Oh, and I don't own them. Enjoy the chapter :)**

_Chapter 4- Frozen Smiles_

_May 6__th__, 2011_

The dull glow of her kitchen's overhead light hit her right eye and she blinked to adjust, turning her sightless left half towards it as she opened a cabinet and pulled out her cutting board. From the wooden block in the corner of the counter she took the largest gleaming blade, studying the reflections it cast for a long moment before she set it parallel to the board and moved to the refrigerator.

She didn't go out often for supplies, and she had a garden out back to help, so today she was prepping a fresh batch of salad to keep on hand. She had just run out of the last one, and she refused to eat more than one meal of frozen store-bought pizza in a week.

The lettuce split merrily under the sharpened blade, and she went at it with a will, taking out her internal frustrations in one of the only productive way she was capable of nowadays. For a while, she had done so on a blow-up punching bag, but after a while it got tedious and she got frustrated with how the loss of her eye had impaired her judgment. For the nine months that she had now spent in this house, though, she had improved quite a lot. She practiced. She did research online. She worked on focusing on her other senses, becoming more and more adept at recognizing sounds from her left side long before what was making them came into her view.

There was a part of her that still resiliently believed she would be one day returning to her life of old. A part of her that pictured a gun in her hand and a familiar body by her side. A part of her that thought this was only _temporary_, that someday, eventually, she would no longer be the woman trapped in this place so far away from the world that she cared about.

Her rational side, however, knew that this was not the case.

Life as she had known it all those years ago had ceased to be on May 6th, 2010. It was not a day she liked to remember, but one that haunted her without mercy nonetheless.

_Eyes blinked open. A blur. Dark, light... nothing clearly outlined. _

_ A moan. Hers._

_ Voices. Undistinguishable, but there._

_ More light, directly into her eye. Dilated pupil, somewhat clearer... shadows to the left._

_ A raspy breath._

_ "...Hospital... fine... relax..."_

_ Trying to shift. Nothing. Frozen. _

_ "...Calm..."_

_ Darkness crowding in. _

_ Silence._

She barely noticed that her fingers were getting dangerously close to the chopping of the knife in time to stop, and then she leaned forward against the counter, catching her breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, counted her heartbeats to slow them, and then hurriedly began to sweep the start of her salad into the large bowl, fumbling with the faucet as she tried to turn it on in order to wash a tomato.

It was probably a bad idea to keep working with the knife, but she couldn't stop now.

Her mind staying forcefully on task, she almost didn't hear the beeping of her alarm from the next room over, and at first she thought she might have imagined it.

But the clock read five when she glanced at it, and she sighed and finally set down the knife, resolving to finish her task when the first commercial came on. She already knew that this was going to be a long news story... they had promised to cover the entirety of it, live.

The screen flickered on slowly, and finally lit itself up to max as an image became visible. She had missed the first couple of minutes. The camera was focused on a stage, and applause could be heard. A man stood center, and behind him there was a large picture of a beautiful woman with long auburn hair half tossed over her shoulder, two brilliant blue eyes, and a nearly symmetrical face with a jaw that was mostly squared. She smiled brilliantly, obviously happy and at peace with the world.

For the life of her, she couldn't remember when the picture had been taken... although she was fairly certain that it must have been by someone other than one of her photo-shoot publicity people. She could always tell the difference just from the way her eyes looked... in this picture, she was relaxed. Perhaps this had been taken by her best friend. The thought sent a pang of sorrow through her, and for a fleeting moment, she was suddenly desperate to restore the darkness in the room and shut this off. She wasn't sure she could handle seeing what was sure to come.

For one... would any of them speak directly?

Heart pounding, she at last tuned into what the man was saying.

"...the first responders. I remember my first thoughts being just... shock. I was a rookie then, barely allowed to come along to such a major situation, but they needed every set of hands they could. The chief... he started shouting orders the minute we got there." He shook his head sadly, "Called to all of us to just... get in there. I had no idea what I would find, but that day... it shook all of us. Shook this city, for sure. And it changed a lot of lives. It certainly changed mine. I still wish that that day had ended differently... I think we all do. But that's why we're here today. To remember what happened, and to honor someone who did more for this city than a lot of us ever dream of."

The audience clapped as he somberly handed the microphone over to another man, who clapped him heartily on the shoulder before taking his place. Briefly, the camera view changed to pan over an audience of figures, the lower halves of their faces illuminated by the candles that each of them held.

She tried not to let the sight get to her, but she knew it was hopeless the moment she saw them all. In those few seconds, she saw not a single face that she recognized... it was the sheer magnitude that hit her, really. So many people there, because of her. Because they thought she was dead. She closed her eyes until the new center of attention began to speak.

"Most of us here... we knew Dr. Temperance Brennan as a beloved author. Some of us knew her as a brilliant anthropologist. Even fewer of us had the pleasure to call her friend or family. We have a short film here, prepared by some of those few, which we'd like to share with the world tonight, to show what some might call the 'real' side of Temperance."

The use of her first name, for some reason, had a greater effect on her than the fact that she was continuously being referred to in the past tense. It was one thing for people to believe her to be dead. It was another entirely for them to act the part. The use of her first name... it wasn't something many had ever done. Was this how she was spoken of now, because she was dead? Was this an attempt to sound more personal?

She couldn't wrap her head around it, and either way, she didn't get much of a chance. The screen changed, taken over by the video that the man had just spoken of.

At once, she knew that it had been put together with the help of her father and brother. It opened with home videos of a much smaller version of herself, staring up with huge eyes at the camera. As the music started and the scenes beautifully transitioned into each other, she also knew that Angela had played a large role. Her chest ached thinking of it, and she tried to helplessly ward off the guilt. For the most part, she avoided thinking of what the people she had left behind went through... but it was at moment's like these, forced to acknowledge it, that she had the hardest time handling this situation she was in.

The song was Blue and White, by Beth Waters. She knew it... Angela had suggested it to her, once, when she was trying to find good background music to listen to while writing a particularly sorrowful scene in one of her books.

She had tears running down her face long before the video got past her youngest years. Her mother appeared a few times, and her father and Russ... all of them looking so young. So much like a perfect family. They knew nothing of the truth, just like everyone else. She barely suppressed the sobs, and after a while she just didn't bother anymore. There was no one to see her, no one to hear her. No one to comfort her or hold her hand. She was alone in this, for better or worse.

As it went on, the clips sped up. There were a few pictures of her from college, and a video from graduation that had been zoomed in to show her specifically. From there, it was mostly images from newspapers. Finally, it got to a point where first Angela, and then other members of the team, began to appear.

The music switched to Pictures of You, by The Last Goodnight. Another song suggested to her by Angela.

She almost lost it when the first picture of the two of them together came up... an image of them from the first time they had gotten in the newspaper together as a 'crime-solving duo.' Their faces were frozen in smiles as they stared at one another, lost to the rest of the world. She hadn't seen his face in a year... had carefully avoided it, in fact.

For this very reason.

If he actually came on camera, she had no idea how she was going to survive. Her eyes swiveled to her laptop, and the temptation to send him an email, right now, was almost overwhelming. She could explain it all, tell him to call the safe house number... _speak_ to him, for the first time in so long. It would be like a breath of fresh air after being submerged in water such a long time that she had lost track of which way was up and which was down.

But she couldn't do that, she reminded herself, desperately trying to hang on to even a strand of her sanity.

_He needs to know... he deserves to know..._

_ He can't, though. He deserves to be free._

_ I'm not going back... I'm never going to see him again..._

_ Remember?_

She took in a shaky breath, and seriously considered once again that it might be safer to simply shut this off and not watch it at all.

But just like that, the music changed suddenly, and there she was, up on a stage slamming away on a guitar to Hot Blooded with him right beside her. The video was shaky, obviously taken from a cell phone, and it gradually faded to darkness, the last notes ringing out.

And suddenly she was watching an ad for Swiffer vacuums, her heart still pounding and her hands holding a death grip on the arms of the chair.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"We return now, to the memorial celebration of the life of Dr. Temperance Brennan, and author and renowned forensic anthropologist who solved over one hundred murders before her own murder one year ago today."

Two reporters, a male and a female, sat behind a desk, the scene of the candle-holders and stage playing behind them on what was probably a large green screen.

Typical sad-news-roll-music started to play as they switched to their own video feed, showing the footage that was by now famous: the video taken by a bystander of the aftermath of the explosion... flames shooting towards the skies overhead. That familiar tweak in her stomach and chilling of her body in general came over her as she watched them play through it, knowing only too well that at the very moment these people were screaming outside of the building... she was lying unconscious, barely alive, on the floor _inside_ of it, the smoke and flames swirling around her, and blood pouring from the side of her head.

She shivered slightly, her arms shifting to wrap around her waist subconsciously.

An older newscast came on next, showing the same female reporter and a picture of Brennan in the background.

"Today, the world lost one of it's greatest and finest... Dr. Temperance Brennan's apartment building was targeted in an apparent bombing. While she was believed to possibly be alive initially, we have now received the official news that Dr. Brennan did not survive her injuries from the blast. This is a matter currently being looked into as a criminal investigation; stay tuned for further information about this matter. Funeral arrangements have yet to be made, although it is unlikely that they will be open to the public."

The date at the bottom changed to another report by the same woman.

"A month has gone by since the bombing that killed two at 415 Elmsworth... an arrest has been made..."

Another change.

"Today Roger Hernandez was released after new evidence cleared him of charges in the Temperance Brennan murder... the head of the FBI investigators on this case refused to comment..."

And so it went, through each report, as they grew more and more morose and certain that no advances were being made towards catching the culprit.

Gradually, they drifted back to the present, and finally switched back to the live feed, sweeping over the candle-bearing crowd before returning to the stage, where it was obvious they had just been watching a video. It might have been the same one she had just seen, but it could have been something else they'd chosen not to include in the newscast she was watching. There was no way to know, but a screen was definitely sliding up in the background as Chloe stepped forward, accompanied by Gina.

The two began telling the now-familiar tale of how Chloe had come to take over the role of writer for the Kathy Reichs murder mystery series, and she tuned most of it out. She'd heard it enough times by now.

Finally, a new speaker came forward to take the stage.

She had been expecting this part.

"As some of you might know, I am Special Agent Harvey Weaver, and I am in charge of the Temperance Brennan murder investigation." She knew who he was. Knew that he had made little to no progress on the case, and wasn't willing to use the investigative techniques that Booth would have applied. It was really no wonder her case hadn't gone anywhere recently.

But then again, that was probably for the best, given that, while she wanted justice as much as anyone else would... she also wanted to stay hidden. Here, she might be causing all of them pain by being dead... but if they knew she was alive, then they would be much more hurt. They would feel betrayed by the fact that she had not told them, and they wouldn't be able to look at her the same way ever again.

She didn't think she'd be able to bear seeing the pity on any of their faces as they took in her destroyed visage. Besides, how would she ever be able to work the way she had in the past? Whether she liked it or not, she _was_ impaired now. And while she might be able to make optimal usage of her other senses and her other eye... it wasn't the _same_. Field work would never be the way it had been before.

"I would like to take this time, while all of you are here, or watching from your homes... to remind you that this is still an open investigation. The perpetrator is still out there, and we are still looking for him or her. If you have any information at all regarding Temperance Brennan or possible suspects, please, call the number at the bottom of your screen. For those of you here with us tonight, if you know _anything_, please come up and speak with either myself or one of my agents during or after the memorial ceremony has concluded. We need all of your help to get justice served for someone who undeniably went above and beyond the definition of civic duty in this city. Thank you."

He replaced the microphone to polite applause, and nodded to the next person who stepped on to the stage.

At once, her blood felt as though it had turned to ice.

Angela.

The camera closed in on her face as she carefully unhooked the microphone. She bit her lip briefly, her eyes scanning across the crowd for a long moment.

Watching it, she couldn't breathe.

"To be honest, I'm not sure if many of you even know who I am," she started, her eyes finally settling on a single point in the audience. She took a shaky breath. "My name is... Angela Montenegro. I work at the Jeffersonian Institute as a facial reconstruction artist. Every... every case that Brennan worked on... I worked with her. She's actually the one that got me the job, to be honest." She laughed, a short, almost nervous laugh. Brennan knew better, though. It was simply what Angela did when she was trying her hardest not to cry. "All of you here... you've read her books. You feel like you know her, like... a part of her lived with you. All of you. And... maybe it did. But a part of me... a part of me lived with _her_. Temperance Brennan was my... _best_ friend."

In the pause, the camera angle switched again, and she was pretty sure she was close to passing out from lack of oxygen, because it certainly felt like she had none in her lungs, and that this kick in the gut had expelled any that might still be lingering.

There _he_ was... and at once she knew that he was the one whose face Angela had found in the crowd, who she had drawn the energy from in order to speak at all.

He looked much the same, except for the graying hair, the obvious wrinkles, and the look in his eyes, which were currently filled with tears. A fresh wave of sobs washed over her, and she could barely see straight, let alone think through the fog of guilt that was choking her.

"I can't tell you what it means that you all came here tonight. All of us at the Jeffersonian, all of us who knew her, who worked with her, who were... lucky enough to call her our friend... we are grateful for how much you care. And I can only hope that... somebody out there will help us get justice for her at last... so that my best friend can rest in peace the way she _deserves_ to."

The applause was deafening as Angela passed over the microphone, brushing her eyes as she stepped down from the stage.

At once she was seeing commercials again, and it felt as though she had just survived a round of torture and been left alone for just a minute, to wonder what might be coming next.

Because it wasn't over yet, and she knew it.

**Please let me know what you think, without telling me anything about the show. Spoilers = hate, if you missed the memo at the top of the screen. I know I'm being repetetive. But I'm paranoid and really worried that I'm going to hear about it ahead of time. **


	6. Locked Doors

**A/N: Alright, so I caught up on Bones. I became incredibly paranoid that someone would tell me what had happened before next week, and so I watched all the episodes I had stored up.**

**Don't worry, I'm not putting spoilers here, in case other people haven't seen it. But let me just say WOW. And you all might like to know that the episodes I watched, especially Signs in the Silence and Hole in the Heart, have fully restored my faith in the show. For a very long time, I've been hurt by the way things were going, and the lack of empathy from Brennan as well as the weird difference in all of their personalities. But those two episodes... felt like I had come home again to a show I actually recognized. There's even a chance I might rewatch the earlier seasons again, after staying away for so long when there was a time I would rewatch at least one episode a day. It just used to hurt, so much, to see the characters the way they used to be and know that they weren't like that anymore. And now... now I got to SEE them again, especially Brennan, the way I remember them. And I am so unbelievably happy about that. And relieved beyond measure. **

**So, all of that aside, I hope you are all still enjoying this story. I love hearing from each and every one of you, and if anyone wants to discuss the show... I would love to chat. Because I can't believe I actually have hope for it again, and now I'm sad that we're about to go a whole summer without.  
**

_Chapter 5- Locked Doors_

_May 6__th__, 2011_

"That was a really nice speech, Angela!" It was the boy that spoke, rather than his father, but she wasn't surprised. Booth wasn't making eye contact. She knew he was crying.

"Thank you, Parker," she said softly, her lips pulling up at the corners to ward off the rising sob in her throat. "I think I see your mother over there... why don't you go bring her over while I talk to your dad for a minute, okay?"

The boy nodded, his short, curly hair bobbing up and down before he followed her pointing finger and ran for the woman who was in the middle of a conversation with Cam. At some point over the past year, the two had become close friends. Angela wasn't really sure how it had come about, but it definitely had something to do with their mutual concern for Booth. At points, she knew that Cam had looked after Parker for a few hours when Booth had been particularly struggling and Rebecca hadn't been sure it would be safe to leave her son in his hands.

"How are you holding up?" she asked gently once the boy was out of earshot. She trusted Rebecca to know not to come right over with Parker. She needed to have this conversation with Booth, and she needed to have it now.

In the background, someone else was speaking up on the stage. Something more about her life, her achievements... more things that neither she nor Booth really needed to be reminded of. The sky was dark now, and the lights from the stage cast a glare, overwhelming most of the candles that twinkled closest to it.

"She's gone, Ange. How do you _think_ I'm holding up? God, not any better than that goddamned first week..."

Her eyes flew wide. He didn't do this, not Booth. Sure, he had fallen apart tremendously after losing her. He wasn't himself anymore, and it wasn't as if she could blame him for all of it. But never, not even once, had he spoken like this since that day in the hospital.

_"She's going to be alright, Booth." Her voice was shaky, though, as she continued. "You... you know Brennan. She's a fighter. She'll get through this."_

_ He silently shook his head, and then whispered, almost inaudibly. "...I failed."_

"Booth..." she murmured helplessly, placing a hand on his arm. He didn't shake her away like she'd been expecting. What was this, exactly? Acceptance? It certainly looked far too much like depression, though, or at the very least an unhealthy combination of the two.

He gave a shaky sigh. "It's not going to get any better, Ange. It's not. I just... there's a part of me missing now, y'know? I'm thinking about just... quitting the FBI." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "She left me just about everything... it's not like I need the money."

"...What are you going to do, then?"

He shrugged as though it didn't really matter. It probably didn't, to him.

"Booth, you can't just sit in your apartment all day and... drink your life away."

He shrugged again, and she could feel her frustration building up. Booth might no longer care to participate in the world, but goddamn it, she _cared_ about him. She couldn't let him do this to himself.

"Do you seriously think Brennan would approve of this? What do you think she'd say if she saw the way you were wasting your life just because she wasn't here anymore?"

"She'd probably tell me that she wasn't as important as I made her out to be," he said bitterly. "Because God knows, she never understood how wrong she was about that."

For a brief moment, her sympathy outweighed her anger. "Booth, she knew how much you cared about her. And she cared about you just as much... something _you_ can't seem to accept."

"Bo-_she_ would have gotten over me eventually, Ange. You know that. I'm just not _capable _of that. And there are a lot of days where I actually really wish I was."

"She wouldn't have, Booth. Take it from the person who was there while _you_ were dead and gone. She never would have _gotten over_ you. Maybe made a good attempt... maybe fooled a lot of people... but Brennan, who she was inside, getting over losing you? No, Booth. I'm sorry, but no."

He closed his eyes and turned his head away. For a long moment, she wondered if he was breathing, and then finally he opened his mouth to address her.

"I told her I was moving on, you know."

She opened her mouth, closed it, and then finally managed to ask, "What?"

He was silent for a few more long seconds. "Did she ever tell you about the night the two of us recounted our first case to Sweets?"

She thought back, trying to remember why such an event might be significant.

"I... don't think so." What had Brennan not shared with her?

He sighed heavily. "Well, that answers another of my questions, if she didn't even tell anyone..." She almost spoke up, but then elected to wait until he explained. "Sweets told us that we had... missed our moment. It's not important why, and to be honest, I just really don't think I can... or _want_... to talk about it. But... he told me that I had to break the 'stalemate' and... take the risk. So when we left his office... I told her that I wanted to try a relationship with her."

Her blood had already run cold long before he'd gotten to that last line. She could tell exactly where this was going.

"She turned you down," she whispered, hardly able to believe it. Of course, she could understand Brennan's thought process... it was who she was. What she couldn't believe was that the event had happened at all... and that Booth now had to live with it. What else was he silently struggling with every day that he had failed to mention in the past?

"Pushed me away... yeah. Gave me all this... complete shit about me needing protecting from her, and her not being able to love me..." he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. "I told her that I was going to move on. Find someone that could love me."

"Oh God..." the words whispered uncensored out of her lips before she could stop them.

But nothing was going to deter Booth from finishing now that he'd started.

"She believed me. I know she did. And when she... when she _died_, she still believed it. She actually _believed_ that I could move on from her. And I let her think it, because I was so determined to be a selfish jackass."

"Booth, you weren't trying to-"

"The hell I wasn't! You weren't there!"

A few people nearby looked at them in alarm, but he had already calmed down, and was shaking his head.

"I always thought we had forever... I always thought that she'd realize she was wrong, and that we'd get a new moment, another _chance_. But we never got it, because they took her from me. And every day, I feel so _useless_, because I'm letting her down. Ange, I can _never_ be the man that she thought I was, and I can't do anything to get the bastard that did this to us."

"After tonight, maybe something new will come in... you've got to have faith, Booth, just like you were always telling her."

A ghost of a smile flicked across his face for barely a second before the haunted look returned. "That's what I used to think, Ange. I really did. But... can you seriously believe that after all we've done things are going to get better? There's nothing we can truly _change._ She's gone."

With that, he turned and walked away. A moment later Rebecca, Parker, and Cam stepped through the crowd to join her where she stood staring off in the direction he had gone.

"He'll be okay," Rebecca said softly, but it didn't sound like she believed it.

"Yeah, that's what everyone keeps saying," Ange agreed with a sigh. "I just don't know if it's even worth believing anymore."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Do you want something to drink?" Jack asked, shuffling through their cabinets. She was leaned against the counter, staring at nothing in particular.

"...No. I'm just tired. I think I'm going to go to bed..."

She pushed away from the support behind her and unsteadily hurried from the room, determined to get into bed as quickly as possible. Suddenly she had the desperate urge to avoid talking about anything that had happened today. She'd been through enough already, as it was... sleep was going to be her only escape.

Hodgins seemed to have other methods in mind, but getting helplessly drunk would be the only way she would forget. And that came with the consequences of remembering tomorrow, accompanied by the inevitable hangover that wouldn't have let her forget again for even a blissful moment.

No, sleep was her best bet at this point. Even though it wasn't likely to be very forthcoming. Not after the day she had just gone through.

Parker's voice kept echoing through her mind, asking questions that she barely had answers to herself. He had opened all those painful doors that she had locked and bolted so long ago with no intent of ever revisiting again... and now she just couldn't shut them again.

When Jack finally came into the bedroom, she was already in her nightgown under the covers, the lights off and her eyes closed. But she couldn't pretend, not to him. As he climbed in beside her and gently rested a hand on her shoulder, she slowly turned herself over to face him, and propped herself up on an elbow to stare at him with sorrow-filled dark eyes.

"Do you ever think about... what it would be like to start moving on from this?"

She bit her lip to quell back the slight gasping sob that had been ready to rise in her throat. "All the time. But... you know as well as I do that there's always _something_ to remind us. And now... it's going to get worse for a long time. What with it being so fresh in everyone's minds again..."

"I know, Angie, but... what I really wanted to talk about was... _us_." She didn't know exactly what to say to that, so she continued to stare blankly at him until he sucked in a breath and explained, very simply, "It's been a year."

That was all it took for her to realize what he was getting at.

"I said _at least _a year, Jack."

"I know you did. And... I realize that tonight probably isn't the best time to bring it up."

"You're right. It's not."

She would have rolled over and ignored him until he shut out the lamp on his side of the bed and went to sleep, but something in his eyes made her keep the connection, albeit still glaring at him.

"I want our lives to become something more than this. You have to understand that, Ange. We can't spend forever just dwelling on what happened... you and me are together. We're happy... or at least I like to think we are."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?"

He sighed and dropped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "What that means is that I don't want to lose you, and I want us to be _truly _happy. I understand that this will never really be over... she was your best friend. She was close to _all _of us. I was buried alive with her, for Christ's sake. Don't tell me I don't feel the same way all the rest of you do about what happened."

"Jack."

He gave a grunt to acknowledge his disjointed sentences and somewhat-rambling.

"What I'm trying to say, though, is that we could start something new, something beautiful, and begin to live again. Just... try to think about what Brennan would want. Do you think she'd want us to mourn her forever?"

Ange couldn't help a short, sad laugh. "God, she'd tell us we were being horribly irrational, wouldn't she?"

"Of course she would. That was Dr. B., and that's why I think the best thing we can do for her is to not only find her killer... but to _not_ let what he did destroy all of us."

"That's exactly what you told me that week," she said, sniffing slightly. She reached for a tissue and dabbed unabashedly at her eyes, tossing it off the side of the bed without a care when she was done. She'd take care of it in the morning.

"I know that it is. Just... think about it, alright Angie?"

"I will. I promise, Jack, I will. Maybe not this week, with everything that's been going on... but we will start something. I just... one thing, though?"

"Anything you want."

"When we have a baby... when we start that family that we always talked about... I want to name our child after her. Boy or girl, it doesn't matter. I want to... do something stupid and irrational that will make me feel like she's still with us. Even if she wouldn't have really understood it, I think that... I think that she would have liked it, deep down in her heart where she never let anyone see."

"I think she would have, too. Even if she would have told us to our faces that we were being ridiculously nostalgic."

Ange laughed, and he joined in. The brief burst of joy seemed to take most of her remaining energy, though, and they both fell silent quickly, lying next to each other and both staring up at the ceiling.

Without a word, Jack reached over and clicked off his bedside lamp, plunging the room into blackness.

"What do you think would have happened... between Booth and her, I mean?" she asked quietly into the dark.

She wondered for a moment, in the silence that followed, if he was going to tell her that dwelling on that idea wasn't going to do anybody any good, but he proved her wrong.

"I'm not going to lie; I saw in them the same thing you did. Why do you think Booth's so damn depressed? If there was ever a couple that was meant for each other, that was fated to meet, fall in love, and all that jazz... it was them."

A long pause.

"They would have been so happy," she whispered finally.

"It's not fair," he agreed softly, and then his warm hand found hers under the sheets and enveloped it in his strong and reassuring grasp.

Slowly, she managed to drift into sleep, the truth and sorrow in his final words still ringing in her ears.

**Don't worry, we will see some hope next chapter. I promise. **


	7. Daffodils

_Chapter 6- Daffodils_

_May 7__th__, 2011_

It was a soft sound, the light tapping of plastic as the Bobble-Head Bobby bounced it's head back and forth. It's painted smile seemed oddly forced and out of place in the dark office, lit only by the glow of the single lamp on the corner of the dusty desktop.

As the motion slowed, a finger reached forward, hesitated as it hovered, and then tapped the head and sent it on another jolted journey back and forth.

He let out a soft sigh, his eyes flicking around the rest of his office. The place hadn't changed much over the past year. He'd kept everything just the same... the only difference could be seen on his desk, which now featured a framed picture of her where there had previously been a cup filled with pens and pencils. A few smaller ones, some of them featuring the both of them together, or her and his son, surrounded it in what Sweets had claimed was a shrine. But no one told him that it was a bad idea. No one dared to inform him that it was _unhealthy_ or that it needed to be _removed_ so he could _move on_. Not anymore.

Maybe they had given up on changing his views... had written him off as a lost cause. Because he highly doubted they had actually chosen to accept his way of coping. He knew that Cam and Rebecca hadn't, and while Angela hadn't outright told him it, he could tell that she didn't think he was doing anything positive.

Way back when, the little plastic bobble-head hadn't been the happiest of mementos. It had reminded him of his time in England with his partner, a time when she had been interested in Wexler and he'd been torn up with frustration trying to figure out how to make her see his feelings for her. Before May 6th, he'd just kept it on his desk as a decoration and a reminder of their sort-of vacation together.

Nowadays, though, it was one of his only ties to her. He could picture the exact way her expression had changed when he'd held it up with his goofy grin firmly in place. He could hear her words clear as day.

He wished, painfully, that he could have the other, more meaningful trinkets that had been a part of their partnership. A soft smile just barely graced his lips, but refused to transform into something greater as the bittersweet memories crossed his mind.

Jasper. Brainy Smurf.

The days he'd given those to her had been some of the hardest they'd faced, but the way that she had taken them, accepted the gifts for what they were... the way he knew she had coveted them... that had meant the world to him.

Jasper would forever be tied in his mind to Howard Epps. To the fact that she'd been forced to kill that day, to save him from Epps' accomplice. He had never wanted to see that day come, because she wasn't the type to kill. She should never have had to face the consequences of murder, no matter what the cause or the justification.

That was why he had been so relieved to see the look in her eyes when he held Jasper up between their faces and 'introduced' her to him. He remembered the way her eyes had sparkled with something a bit more pleasant than the pain that had been there ever since she'd fired the gun, and the way that crooked little smile had spread across her face as she realized he was trying to do something nice for her, and she had made the decision to accept that and allow him to help.

And then there had been Brainy Smurf. Another dark day in their partnership, although for a less horrifying reason than the previous one. He still kicked himself for being such an idiot when she'd opened up to him about her high school experience... he'd spent all those years working alongside her, hoping she'd let him further behind those walls of hers, and then when she finally made the choice to just give him a few more inches... he'd done the exact thing she had expressly asked him not to do. Essentially he had betrayed her, just by laughing, because that was what those cruel teenagers had done. And he'd knocked her back to that level, as though she were someone beneath him to be mocked and teased for who she was and what her hopes and dreams had been. Some days all he could see was the pain in her eyes following that conversation, and the way that she had closed herself off from him.

When he'd given her that Smurf figurine, he hadn't just been trying to make her feel better. He had been trying to regain the trust that she had in him, because he had learned enough about her over the years, come to understand her thoroughly enough, that he knew she needed _somebody _to trust. And for a long while, that had been him. He'd have done just about anything to give that trust back to her, and make her feel safe and happy in his company again. To think he could have lost all that he'd worked for between them just by being a jerk one single time, just by giving one quick chuckle, had been more than enough to make him realize just how much she meant to him, and how important it was that she remained in his life.

If he could just see either of those little toys now, he knew he'd be able to feel that sense of warmth, of relief, of joy that he had gotten when he'd passed them over to her in the first place.

But the fact was, he knew he couldn't. He knew he'd never see those tokens of his love for her ever again, because just like her, they were taken from him in that blast and the fire that followed it.

He'd been through her apartment, or what remained of it, at least.

They'd told him not to... everyone had told him not to. But he just hadn't been able to stay away. It was the last place she had been alive, the last place she had walked, had breathed, had smiled. The last place that she had existed. The place that she had been _killed_. And he knew, no matter how morbid it was, that he would have visited the place she died regardless of where it was. The fact that it was her apartment was simply something that added to the agony, not something that determined it. What determined it was the fact, alone, that she was gone.

Walking through that doorway, though, had been horrifying. Images had flashed through his mind, super-imposing themselves over what he was seeing, comparing his memories to the reality of the present.

The first time he'd ever been there, someone had been trying to kill her. It was almost ridiculously clichéd how every time something personal happened between them, it was associated with something horrible. He recalled the way he'd walked through the door behind her, his eyes widening in surprise, even though he should have expected it, over how clean and spacious her place was.

As he had stepped around the charred remains of one of her chairs, his mind had snapped backwards to the way they had danced in this very space to Hot Blooded. Almost instantly his eyes flew to where her CD collection had been, and all he had found there was melted plastic.

She had loved Jazz, a fact that he'd never forgotten after she'd told him.

_"No, I love it. The artist has to live within a set tonal structure and trust his own instincts to... find his way out of an infinite maze of musical possibilities, and the great ones do." He stared at her in something close to awe. "What?"_

_ "Oh nothing, I just never... expected that you would... y'know..."_

_ "That I would love music? I don't usually... get to talk about it, but... since you brought it up..."_

He had dug through her jazz collection on another occasion, when they had simply dropped by her place so she could grab a change of clothes after they'd gotten caught in a surprise rainstorm at a crime scene. That year, for Christmas, he'd gotten her a new one that she didn't have. He remembered the way she'd laughed in amazement, questioning how on Earth he could have known that she didn't already own it, and wondering how he could possibly have known who her favorite musician was.

_"I just know these things, Bones. You should have figured that out by now."_

He'd randomly put daffodils in her office several times as well, but she'd never confronted him about it, and he was never around when she found them. Previously, he'd enjoyed imagining how she had reacted, and he'd watched the way she glowed for the rest of the day. Now he wished he could have done it just one more time, and found a way to watch. Then he would have that image to remember... there was nothing more beautiful in the world, truly, than the way her face lit up when she was happily surprised.

In the last few weeks they'd had, though, he'd seen very little of that expression. Mostly, he caught only small smiles, almost always overwhelmed by sadness or other emotions that she was obviously battling silently with.

After that night outside the Hoover Building, nothing had been the same. They had bickered as they always had, but there had been an element lacking. He'd known that both of their minds were always partially occupied with that conversation, and that everything they said to each other was interpreted as though it were related. Nothing was calm and relaxed entirely, and they hadn't even had Thai food once. How could he go to her apartment in the middle of the night, though, when she knew how he felt, when she had turned him down? It wasn't a caring and friendly action to keep them both entertained and get their paperwork done together anymore. It was something more, something that they couldn't have in this new world that he'd pushed them into by telling her he wanted more from her than she was capable of giving.

He would regret that their last weeks hadn't been spent happy and relaxed for the rest of his life, and he knew it.

A soft knock on his office door interrupted his musing, and his head snapped up to see that Charlie had opened the door and he just hadn't noticed. The man was standing there, a hand rested on the doorframe and a concerned frown etched on his face.

"What is it?" he asked before the other man could question if he was _okay_ or not.

"Cullen wants to see you, Booth."

He had opened his mouth again after a short pause, clearly intending to question his emotional state, but Booth stood abruptly and gave him a warning glance. The other man stepped backwards out of the doorway to let him pass.

"Thanks," he said before he turned and headed up the row of cubicles towards his boss's office.

All his colleagues gave him the same look he'd been getting for the past year. He was used to it by now... eyes of every color filled with nothing but pity, but at the same time there was a way that he knew he'd never be _fully _used to it. A part of him would always hate the way they looked at him, because it was just one more reminder.

Some days he wondered if he'd ever see someone that he knew look at him as though they weren't trying to assess his current pain level. But as it was with his visit to Cullen, he'd probably not be seeing many of these people again anyways.

The phones down the end were ringing off the hook. The tip lines hadn't stopped since the ceremony the night before. It didn't mean a thing, though, and he knew better than to get his hopes up over it. He recalled only too well the way things had been just like this in the days following the explosion. So many leads to follow, so many witnesses to question... and all of it for nothing. All of it had come to _nothing_.

"Sir?" he said, standing in the office's doorway.

"Come in, Booth. Take a seat."

The older man had been going over a file, but as Booth pulled out the chair opposite of him and sank into it, he snapped it shut, slid it aside, and then sighed and pulled his glasses off his face.

"I'm not going to lie. It does not make me happy at all to be having this meeting with you."

He neatly folded the glasses and placed them on top of the file, propping both his arms on their elbows and threading his fingers together. He shook his head back and forth, staring down at his desk for a long moment before he very seriously met the agent's eyes.

"You knew my daughter, Amy. You and Dr. Brennan both helped us find out the truth, and get justice for her. And you know that it still didn't save her."

"I know, sir," he murmured, not meeting his eyes but staring instead at a fixed point on the desk that separated them.

"Now, I might not have known Dr. Brennan as well as you did, but I know what type of woman she was. And I know how you felt about her, even if you never said so."

"All due respect, sir, but I'm not sure what this has to do with what I wanted to speak with you about."

Cullen stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Booth, you're one of my best agents. You have been ever since you joined this agency. And there was a very specific reason why I let you partner with Dr. Brennan. You know, obviously, that I didn't approve to start. But I rarely approve of things that can endanger the cases this agency handles. When I did pass my final judgment, though, it was in her favor. And that was because you worked _better_ with her. Don't get me wrong, you were already talented and I respected you for it. With her, though, you were somebody completely different... the type of person that anybody in power wishes they could _clone_. Why do you think it is that I let this last year go by without reprimanding you?"

When Booth made no response, he leaned forward again.

"This has been hard on you, and I really can't think of a feasible way to _blame_ you for that. But I can tell you right now that I'm not going to let my top agent slip away without a fight. I'm not signing your request for retirement, Booth."

"Sir, I can't do my job. I think that's been pretty clear."

"Obviously I can see that. The problem, though, is that I like you just a little too much. Call it favoritism, call it whatever you want, but that's how it is. Tell any of your fellow agents that, though, and I _will_ deny it. So, here's what I'm going to do, and I would appreciate if you would take this seriously and consider what I'm telling you."

He didn't have much of an option but to nod in agreement.

"Up until now, Agent Weaver has been in complete control of the investigation of Dr. Brennan's murder. We both know that he has been unsuccessful. I know that you've asked me before to let you take over, and while I would like to do that, we both _also_ know that I can't. I'm going to offer you a chance to work on this case, though, Booth. Partially because I'm tired of watching you mope around when all you want to do is work on this, and partially because I'm pretty sure you can actually solve it."

"I can have access to all the evidence and the witnesses?" he asked, perking up for the first time in what felt like forever. This was what he'd been waiting for.

"I can get you and your squints all the physical evidence, the crime scene photos, and a list of the witnesses. You'll be able to question any of them you please, and you'll have my backing. I want you to _remember_, though, that Agent Weaver still has control of this case. Your investigation will be taking place _adjacent_ to his, not _over_ it. Any new evidence that comes in will go through him first, although he will be keeping you in the loop. What I want you to do, and what I expect you will do, is find something that everyone else has missed. It's been a year... you're still too close to this case, but I believe you can do a thorough and unbiased job, because you want _justice_. I do have one specification, though."

"Anything, sir," he said, his eyes bright and his mind racing with all this information. He was already planning what to do first.

"Dr. Sweets has taken a month off from his position in New York, and at my behest, he has agreed to supervise you."

"Supervise?" He couldn't get the incredulous tone out of his voice.

"Yes, supervise. And he'll be reporting to me. Like it or not, to put it bluntly, I'm concerned about your mental state. Putting you on this case isn't something I do lightly. So take the good with the bad, and solve this case."

"Can I have all the forensics shipped to the Jeffersonian, sir?"

"Not all of them, Booth. Weaver is still in charge of this case. I have a feeling I'm going to be reminding you of that every few hours," he added under his breath. "But," he spoke up again, "You can have the particulates that were gathered, the reports on the explosives, and everything else I mentioned. Along with the..." he cleared his throat carefully. "X-rays."

Booth sucked in a sharp breath. "Not... not the actual... body, sir?" the words were forced, and his voice very nearly broke in the middle.

"I'm afraid not, Agent Booth. This is it, take it or leave it."

"I'll get to work right away, sir."

Cullen nodded, satisfied. "Very good. Why don't you go tell your squints the good news?"

"I will. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Booth." He was already standing and turning towards the door before he was stopped. "One more request."

"Yes?"

"Be careful out there. I know that your lady scientist wouldn't have wanted anything to happen to you."

He smiled softly, his eyes reflecting his gratitude and his acceptance before he turned away at last.

**I just finished a war with my computer involving wonderful viruses that love me and refuse to go away. They're sort of like stalkers; you don't notice them till they slam up in your face and start ruining your life. You also become paranoid and freak out whenever bubbles pop up in the bottom of your screen with notifications. **

**Cheer me up with some lovely feedback, will you? **

**Also, I'd like to share that my faith in Bones was so fully restored by these past two episodes that I have been able to begin rewatching Season 5 at last, which I was incapable of ever since recieving the DVD set for my birthday this past October. It used to depress me to think that it was going downhill. Now... well, now I've got hope again. So, you can be assured that I won't be leaving the fandom anytime soon. In fact, I'll probably be one of those people who is STILL writing Bones fanfics ten years after it goes off the air. Yikes.  
**


	8. Wishing Coins

**A/N: Here's a bit of a longer chapter for you guys :)**

_Chapter 7- Wishing Coins_

_May 7__th__, 2011_

"So you fully understand what I'm asking of you?"

"Completely, sir," Sweets responded with a firm nod.

"Alright then," Cullen said, "Agent Booth is collecting the evidence that you'll be needing on this case—I saw him head to storage rather than to the elevator—so you'll probably beat him to the Jeffersonian. I'd appreciate it if you let him tell those squints the news."

"I'll make sure not to explain to them why I'm there until Booth has gotten to fill them in. I would, however, like the opportunity to talk to them about Booth's current condition."

"Try not to ruffle too many feathers."

"I'll do my best."

Cullen nodded thoughtfully. "You were a kid when you worked here, Dr. Sweets. I think New York's been a good experience for you."

"Or it might just have something to do with the fact that I can grow facial hair now."

The older man couldn't suppress a loud guffaw of laughter. "That's from Dr. Brennan, right?"

"And Booth. Together. They had this way of... teaming up on me."

He chuckled. "I don't doubt that for a second."

Something made the psychologist frown for a second. It might have been the look in Cullen's eyes, or the way his forehead wrinkled, or even the tone of his voice that gave him the indication that something was off, but a moment later it was gone, and he was leaving the office on his way to the lab.

They wouldn't be surprised to see him; after all, he'd told them the night before that he was staying for a while. It wouldn't be strange for him to drop by the lab to see them while he was in town. It wasn't like he had much else to do, and besides, he knew he'd be doing this all the same, even if he hadn't just been given a job to do.

Cullen had mentioned the possibility to him earlier that morning, before he'd called Booth in, and he had known before he'd been called back that it would work out just as Cullen had expected. Booth would never have skipped the chance to work this case; if he had, then there would be serious need to get him help. He couldn't deny being grateful, and quite relieved, that he had been right.

He didn't have a car with him, and Cullen hadn't extended his gratitude for his help so far as to provide him with a government issue one, so he was forced to grab a taxi cab.

The day was moderately sunny, and when he stepped out of the vehicle, forking over a decent wad of cash somewhat begrudgingly, he walked through the gardens at the back of the Jeffersonian, feeling more relaxed than he had in a while. It didn't fit in at all with how he should be feeling, given what the events of last night and the things he was going to be facing today and the rest of his week, but he wasn't going to argue.

The water in the fountain splashed cheerfully as he made his way around it. He paused, though, when he reached the far end and began to turn away from it to head up the side of the building towards the entrance to the Medico-Legal Lab. Fishing absently into his pocket, he found some spare change from his lunch earlier at the diner. He rubbed the coins together between his fingers, lost in his thoughts.

It really wasn't fair, what this team had been put through. They fought _every day_ to get justice for people that they didn't even know. They gave so much of themselves so they could be the hard scientists that they needed to be in order to evaluate facts and discover the truth. And no one that he had ever met had been more dedicated to doing just that than Dr. Brennan. And he couldn't argue with the fact that she couldn't have been paired up with a more perfect partner.

Dr. Gordon Wyatt had been right, he thought wistfully. They weren't opposites at all, as he had originally believed. They were essentially so similar to one another that they butted heads at every turn. Sure, she was a scientist and he was a cop. She was rational with doctorates and he was street smart with his gut leading the way. It all came back to their shared desires in life, though. He wanted to find murderers. He wanted to protect the weak and take down those that didn't follow the laws of the country he loved. She wanted to find the truth, no matter what that meant, and get justice for everyone equally. _That_ was why they made such a brilliant team... that and of course their constant competition and desire to be right, which checked each other and found solutions where no one else possibly could have.

Dr. Lance Sweets did no cry often. He might have been more on the 'weak' side of the scale that so many put up to label members of their society, but that didn't mean he wasn't just as efficient at bottling up his emotions as Brennan had been. Sometimes, though, he broke just like she had. Everyone had a point they couldn't go past, and for him... these people that he had worked with... they were his breaking point.

A single tear traced down his cheek before he wiped it away, leaving no trace behind. He nodded firmly to himself, staring into the rippling water of the fountain, and then tossed the handful of coins into the depths. Six coins, to be exact. One for him, one for Booth, one for Angela, one for Hodgins, one for Cam... and one for Brennan.

It might mean absolutely nothing, might be totally irrational, in fact, but that didn't stop him from wishing that each of them might be able to someday make their peace with what had happened, and get justice in the bargain.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Sweets!"

Angela was the first to notice him as he walked towards the platform, and she wasted no time in hurrying over to the stairs to slide her card and let him up.

Cam offered him a smile as he walked over to join the small group that was huddled together. "What's going on?" he asked curiously, eyeing the table that was covered with what appeared to be evidence in the case that they weren't allowed to work on.

"First off, you can't tell Booth we've been looking at this, got it?" Angela warned, her eyes narrowed. She had this innate ability, and she knew it, to make people afraid of her. He didn't doubt that she would find some way to harm him if he didn't go along with her. Not that it would matter in the long run, though... Booth was on his way over to tell them that they were now _allowed_ to dig into this.

"My lips are sealed." _For the next ten minutes or so, anyways._ "It's not like I expected any less than this, though. It's perfectly understandable given the anniversary yesterday, and the memorial..."

Hodgins coughed hesitantly, and he trailed off, deciding that it was indeed probably wiser to just stop there and leave it be. These people didn't need to have their actions explained... they knew exactly why they were doing what they were doing.

"I'm the one behind it, actually," Cam admitted, her eyes dark with warning akin to Angela's. "This isn't just about Brennan anymore... although we all know how much she deserves to have her killer behind bars."

"You're concerned for Agent Booth."

They all nodded solemnly, and Angela sighed. "He hasn't gotten any better, Sweets. He's just... depressed. All the time. Heck, when was the last time he even came by the lab?" she asked, glancing towards her coworkers, who all matched her expression.

It was clear Cullen couldn't have made a better choice in his decision to hand part of the investigation over to Booth. This might not bring things back to the way they were, and it might not fix Booth, per se, but it could only do good for all of those involved. Especially if they were successful... and he had a very strong feeling that they would be. He didn't know how long it would take for them to get there, but he knew that none of the people in this room were going to give up for even a moment after they found out they had access to all the evidence they would need to actually begin their own full-scale investigation.

"And you all believe that solving this will help him get over losing Dr. Brennan?"

"We've tried everything else... this is all we have left. And to be honest, I'm not really sure what we'll do if he never gets any better. I mean... he can only get worse if he doesn't start rising above this."

He hadn't expected such an outright answer from Cam, and he struggled to hide his surprise, managing to nod in agreement and bow his head slightly to collect his thoughts. He would have to keep this in account when he was watching Booth for the next month. What if he really didn't get any better? Sweets had seen cases before where the relief of closure had been only satisfying enough to last a short while... it burned itself out and left the victim completely lost with no new course of action. They simply put so much into _getting _that closure, that they had no purpose left in life once it was over.

That couldn't happen to Booth, he promised himself. For a brief moment, he saw a stern image of Brennan glaring at him across his office as she leaned forward in her seat, the chair beside her empty for once.

_"It's ridiculous to consider something happening to Booth. It happened once... I'm not going to let my guard down again."_

_ "So... you blame yourself for allowing Pam to shoot Agent Booth?"_

_ "That's... that's not what I meant. What I meant is that I'm not going to miss similar signs again. And we're a team; we watch each other's backs."_

_ "Isn't it irrational to not even consider what might happen if he were killed?"_

_ "It's irrational to subject myself to that sort of pain when that situation may never again present itself. Besides, there is every possibility that I might die before him." _

He'd known then that there was no way _she_ could survive losing _him_. And he knew only too well that if she could have left him any instructions, had she known her fate ahead of time, she would have demanded that he protect Booth and prevent any harm from coming to him. She had loved him, whether or not she had been ready to admit it while she'd been alive. The idea of something happening to him would not have been one she'd been able to bear considering while she was alive... it wasn't one she would like any better in death.

"I can't promise results, but I'm fairly certain that Booth will be able to improve with some more time."

Angela scoffed. "It's been a year, Sweets. And to be quite blunt, you haven't been here to see what we have."

He winced, knowing that he deserved that one. It had been his decision, after all, to pack up and leave DC a month after the investigation ground to a halt. His relationship with Daisy had completely fallen apart... a dig had come up on some island in Indonesia and she'd jumped at the chance to get away from the lab. Perky and energetic Daisy simply could not handle the somber mood of the Jeffersonian. Sure, she'd been horrified by the death of her idol, and she'd spent weeks convinced that she could single-handedly find a clue that would lead to the killer. But that didn't mean she hadn't been out of place. It was just her way to try and cheer people up, and to chatter ceaselessly until more than one of the team members had come to his office to warn him, in all seriousness, that he might be investigating _her_ murder soon.

To this day, he wasn't quite sure if their relationship had been doomed from the start, or if it had been destroyed in the blast that killed Brennan. Had they just been young and in love, not thinking about the long-term, or had there actually been something and he had let it slip away? She had asked him to come with her, but there had been no interest for him in it. She'd wanted him to become a pearl diver and give up everything he cared about, without a thought for anything else.

Either way, he hadn't seen her since he'd left for New York. As far as he knew, she was in Montreal working as a full-fledged forensic anthropologist now.

His reasons for leaving had been different from hers, though. He had many patients that he saw as a psychologist, but he'd had a connection unlike any of the others with Booth and Brennan. He'd become invested in working for a successful relationship between the two, and he'd loved spending time outside work with the whole team, as well as offering anything he could on the cases that they worked. When she had died, the whole makeshift family that he had made for himself had crumbled and fallen apart.

He had tried to help them. He'd done everything he could to bring them back together and to find the person responsible for it all in the first place. At every turn he'd only hit roadblocks, though. Every time he tried to do the right thing, every time he tried to mend a bridge he was shut out or cut off, and he simply stood helpless while he watched everyone he cared about suffer in silence. For a long while, he'd even been worried that Angela and Hodgins were going to break as he and Daisy had. Of course, the other couple had been through far more than he and Daisy had, and they were already married... but the months following the loss of Brennan had very nearly destroyed them. He'd never told them how relieved he was that they had survived and managed to thrive together despite the many obstacles that had been put in their path. If there was anything that would have made Brennan glad to know, it would be that two of her closest friends were together and working to build a life with one another.

It was small in the face of the tragedy, but sometimes that was all it took for the seeds of hope to be laid. So far, they were blossoming well. Now all they needed to do was spread to the others who had been so terribly affected. Booth in particular.

The trademark _swoosh_ of the glass doors reached all of their ears at the same time, and Sweets turned with the others in time to see Booth stepping through them, carrying a large white evidence storage box.

Sweets shot a sidelong glance at the team, and saw confusion in each of their expressions. Still, Angela hurried forward just as she had for him and slid her card through the scanner to allow him up.

"What's this, Seeley?" Cam asked curiously, stepping forward as Hodgins surreptitiously gathered everything off of the evidence table and stuffed it into a box that he promptly kicked under his desk.

"This is our case," he said simply, unable to keep a slight smile from tilting up the corner of his mouth. Astonishment was evident on every face in the room, even his own. He had known Booth would be eager to work this investigation, but he hadn't been expecting quite this level of personality difference. It seemed to be an improvement, but that was still left to be seen. The possibility of what might happen to him when this case was closed, after all, was still nagging anxiously at the back of his mind. He pushed it aside long enough to pay attention to each detail of what was happening. This might all be very important later on.

"We have a case?" Hodgins asked instantly, joining their ranks around Booth as the other man slid the heavy evidence box onto a free lab table.

Angela didn't ask for permission as she reached forward and pulled the top off of the box, reaching inside to pull out the first thing she came across, which happened to be a baggie filled with some sort of sooty residue.

Hodgins took it from her, and she let him without complaint.

"Hey, this isn't..." the entomologist trailed off, his eyes huge as he stared at the bag and then back at Booth with undisguised shock.

Booth didn't get the opportunity to answer, though, because Angela was already pulling out more of the evidence and laying it out on the table, her fingers shaking.

"This is her case," she whispered at last, apparently having found her voice. For a long moment, her eyes stayed downwards, following the path of her fingers as they traced lightly over the crime scene photos. And then, finally, they darted upwards to lock Booth in their cold stare. "What does this mean?" she demanded.

"It means Cullen's giving me free reign to look into it."

"With a few specifications," Sweets reminded from the sidelines. All eyes flicked to him in an instant.

"You knew this?" Cam asked, her tone no longer friendly.

He raised his hands hurriedly in surrender. "Did you want to hear it from me, or from Booth?" he asked. Slowly, their gazes softened, and a few heads nodded in agreement before turning back to the other man.

"Where do we start?" Wendell asked, holding an open file in his hand and flipping absently through it as he scanned the details.

"Well, I for one would like to know just what we can do here," Ange said, raising an eyebrow at Booth.

He sighed in acknowledgement. "Alright. Cullen's letting us look through all the evidence... run any tests we can. I'll be looking into the witnesses and re-questioning them on what they know."

"And the new evidence and witnesses? Don't you dare try to tell me that there haven't been a few hundred viable tips since last night." Angela's no-nonsense tone was refreshing... he had a feeling she hadn't had much chance to use it at all in the past year. He knew he certainly hadn't heard much of it in that short time before he'd moved away. He doubted things, as far as the way she'd acted around her colleagues, had gotten much of a chance to evolve since then. With Booth in particular.

The agent responded with a scowl, which Sweets had been fully expecting. "Weaver's still... in charge. Cullen not going to change that, of course, but he has his full confidence in us, or so he says."

"With good reason. If he'd given us the chance to do this early on in the investigation, we could have solved this ages ago. The FBI might think they're high-tech and capable, but they just... they aren't _us_," Hodgins said fervently.

"At the time, it would have been unwise to allow you to do so because you were all compromised by how close to home it hit." They all cast him varying glances of disapproval, and he hurried to defend himself. "Hey, I was right with you. Cullen wouldn't let me near the case any more than any of you."

"Booth, are they going to send over the remains?" Cam's attempt to remain detached was noble, but it failed horribly. Angela sucked in a sharp breath, and Hodgins' eyes widened before darting rapidly back and forth between the different members of the group as though trying to assess reactions.

"No," he said stiffly. "The x-rays are in one of the files in this box... Cullen said that was the best we were getting."

From the reactions to that statement, he couldn't discern whether the overall consensus was relief or frustration. He couldn't deny that they would be the best forensics experts to go over any body, but for it to be _her_ body, on one of these cold examination tables... one of these tables that she herself had leaned over countless times to pick up a bone and study it in the light...

There would just be something unexplainably _wrong_ with it. And to even consider these people, this team that had been a family for her, looking over her remains... it was just too painful. No, it was better that they never see what was left of their friend and coworker. They had suffered enough as it was.

"Alright, before we look through any more of this, I want to go over everything we already know," Cam said firmly, bringing back a business-like atmosphere to the room.

It was strange, he thought absently before she continued, how there were other scientists all around this lab going about their experiments, gathering their data... acting like this was any other day. For them, though, it was. It was only this isolated group of people who were so strongly affected. If he hadn't been so closely surrounded by all of them in that moment, he would have felt rather lost and alone in the world.

"Let's start with the explosion. Hodgins, would you..?"

"You sure?"

"It doesn't matter now, anyways."

The bug expert shrugged and leaned over to scoop up the box he had hid under his desk, placing it on another spare evidence table. He glanced at Booth quickly before he pulled off the cover and reached inside, removing a sheet of paper from the side.

He cleared his throat before reading off of it a long list of chemical components, and then, "The blast originated in the wall between apartment 2B and apartment 3B. Both occupants were killed in the explosion. The occupant of 3B, a Mr. Daniel Hallows, was an elderly man with no known family. His apartment was broken into a week prior to the blast, and it is believed that this was when the explosives were planted in the wall behind a shelving unit. This shelving unit blasted outwards and killed Hallows with a blow to the head. His body was then severely burned in the following fire, and rendered unrecognizable. Other occupants of the building identified him as Hallows from a... reconstructive sketch."

Angela glanced away, and Sweets recalled that she had been asked to do the sketch... it was the only contribution she had been allowed to give to the investigation.

"The occupant of 2B, a Dr. Temperance Brennan..." his voice broke slightly, but he forced himself onwards anyways, "was hit on the left side by the blast and... thrown into the wall of the hallway, where she was knocked unconscious. Cause of death was... internal bleeding from shrapnel."

Booth's eyes were closed, and it was evident that he was picturing every word that Hodgins' said in excruciating detail. He was having a hard time not doing so himself, but he most definitely hadn't been able to avoid seeing that horrible image of Brennan being thrown into the wall. Just before that had been the last moment she was aware of... he knew only too well that she had never reawakened even after she had been pulled from the apartment and rushed to the hospital. It was there, after an hour of waiting for news, that they were all informed nothing could have been done differently, and she was gone.

"As far as we know," Hodgins finished somewhat shakily, "No connection was ever made between any suspects and the type of explosives which were used."

Cam was watching Booth with unabashed concern, but she managed to break her eyes away to address them all, trying to bring the topic off of painful memories. Sweets didn't know how successful she was going to be now that they all had mental images that they really could have done without, but he appreciated her effort.

"Alright, we don't know much about suspects and witnesses, because we were blocked from that part of the investigation. What we do know, however, is that Roger Hernandez was the only arrest ever made, and he was proved innocent long before things could go to trial. He was originally arrested because his cousin was arrested by Booth and Brennan, and he had been caught at the apartment building following the explosion. He was at a conference in Florida for the entirety of the day the bomb had to of been planted, though.

"Security cameras in the building failed the day that it was planted, and the day of the explosion. There was never an actual explanation given for how that was accomplished. The doorman, who would have been the only witness, claims to have seen nothing out of the ordinary on either of the days."

"Don't forget the footsteps," Hodgins piped up.

"Right. A large portion of the lower floors all claimed to have heard someone running down the stairs and through the hallways, on their way out of the building. No one saw whoever it was, though."

There was silence for a long moment, and then Cam reached into the new evidence box.

"Alright, I think it would be best to treat this as we would any other case. Hodgins, you look into the particulates and the explosive residue; Angela, you see what you can do about figuring out what went wrong with the security cameras; Wendell, when Nigel-Murray comes in work with him on the x-rays. I'll start sorting out this new evidence. Booth, do you have anything in particular that you want us to focus on?"

"I'm going to dig into Daniel Hallows," he said, averting his eyes as Hodgins pulled out a large plastic bag from the evidence box. In it was a pair of torn and burned jeans and a soft white blouse with cuts slashed through it. Dried blood coated both of them. Another bag followed, this one containing a pair of heels, a hair tie, and a clunky necklace.

Without even trying, Sweets could see her in the outfit, even though it wasn't what she'd been wearing when he'd last seen her.

She'd come to his office that day, early in the morning. She had begrudgingly decided to ask for his opinion on the case they were working, and he'd been only too eager to provide anything he could. He remembered the way she'd scoffed at his theory that the victim hadn't liked her career, and that the killer had most likely known it, or been involved. As it was, he'd initially been right about that... but that didn't matter to him. In fact, he'd of been happier if she'd been the one who was right.

What he remembered most, though, was the way she'd smiled at him when she'd said thanks before turning to leave. He remembered the way her heels had clicked loudly on his office floor, and had faded off as the door slid closed behind her.

And that was the last time he'd ever seen her.

She must have changed when she got back home. Maybe she'd even been going out, judging from the heels. He'd never know, though.

The funeral had been private. It hadn't seemed quite right that they were burying an empty casket while her remains stayed in evidence... but, of course, nothing had seemed quite right during those days. It still didn't, really.

"Well, we've all got something to do... Sweets, you're welcome to help me sort through this, if you've got nothing else you need to do. When are you returning to New York?"

"Actually, I'm here for the month. I'll be following Agent Booth around, on Cullen's orders."

Cam shot Booth a glance that clearly begged the question 'why didn't you mention that?'

"Well, if you're going to be tailing me around, let's get going. I want to get over to the apartment building and start questioning the neighbors. Just stay out of my way, alright?"

Booth didn't give him much of a chance to complain, simply turning and heading for the entrance, leaving him with not much of an option but to follow, waving a hasty goodbye to the now thoroughly occupied team of squints.

**The support has been amazing. Thanks to each and every one of you that has left alerts or reviews; it's so great to know people are reading, after I dedicated so much time to planning and writing these chapters. Things are going to start picking up speed now. **


	9. Icy Paths

**A/N: OMG LAST NIGHT! AHHHH FINALE! *incoherent screaming* *loud thump* **

***cough* Apologies, but it appears the author has collapsed again from finale-related hyperventalation. Please step around the body and continue with the story as normal. Also note the presence of partial spoilers in the lower author's note, in case you have yet to see the episode.  
**

_Chapter 8- Icy Paths_

_May 9__th__, 2011_

It was early morning. The _early_ sort of early... the kind that Angela Montenegro did not like to associate herself with. But today wasn't any average day, and a few more hours of staring at the ceiling wouldn't have remedied the number of hours that she had already missed at that point. So, exhausted but wide awake at the same time, she had given up and written a note for Jack before taking a quick shower, tossing on the first things she found in the closet, and heading out to start up her car.

She had been half-expecting her husband to realize that she was no longer in bed with him, but just before she'd stepped out the door she'd taken the liberty of looking in on him... and had found him completely crashed and slowly adding to a spot of drool on his pillow. Smirking to herself, she'd left him to his own devices and taped the note to the door where he was bound to see it before he got himself too worked up about her whereabouts.

Even here in the middle of the silent lab, though, she felt no different. Her limbs were heavy and her eyes glazing over, and yet every time she allowed her lids to slide shut and her head to drop onto her arms, all she could see was memory after memory. A never ending cycle of torment. Perhaps coming here hadn't been the wisest idea in the world, after all.

For the tenth time since her arrival a little over an hour ago, her gaze slid over the smooth and shiny surfaces to settle on the dark, glass-encased office that had once belonged to her best friend. In many ways, it still did belong to her. Wendell hadn't laid much of a claim on it, despite the fact that it was supposed to be his nowadays. He was the lead anthropologist at the Jeffersonian, now, with Nigel-Murray as his close associate. The two were practically equal, and were always eager to experiment with Hodgins just like back in the old days, but the difference made itself apparent on certain occasions—such as when important figures came to visit or paperwork needed to get done.

It was the office set-up, though, that remained identical to its configuration from the previous seven years. Her desk was mostly in one corner, and the couch remained resolutely opposite of it, angled closer to the door. Most of her old decorations were gone... cleared out by the FBI for whatever unexplained reason.

Some of it had found its way into the museum... once in a great while, when she was feeling particularly reminiscent or lonely, she would take a tour and stop at each spot where an artifact had been placed, and just stand there for ages, staring. She had only ever been bothered by security once, and the young, uniformed man who had approached to ask her to move on had quickly apologized when he realized who she was and what she was looking at. She hadn't been bothered again since that incident.

The office, though, was the place that held the strongest memories within it's pristine walls. Wendell never seemed to mind if he found her just sitting in there, and if he did, he never mentioned it. The sympathy she saw in his eyes was enough to tell her that he understood, though. Things might not have worked out between the two of them, but he was a good man, and he still cared about her, and about the rest of the team. He was just as much a part of their little family as she was.

Closing her eyes now, she could feel the sun of a normal afternoon coating her pale skin from the skylights overhead, and she could imagine that, if she were to blink her eyes open right now, she would find Booth strolling through the doors, hands shoved in his pockets and a cheerful whistle springing from his lips as he ignored the rest of the world and made his way to her door. And there she was, sitting at her desk with a frown set on her beautiful face. Brennan had what one would call a 'natural beauty,' something that had certainly not gone unnoticed by her artistic friend. There was more than one painting stowed away in the back of her studio which featured a subject that bore striking resemblance to her.

God, how she missed the world-worn look in those blue eyes and the way her face lit up in a dazzling smile whenever someone mentioned Booth, without her even realizing it. She missed those easy days of murder-solving, those days when they'd all been invincible, before Booth's shooting and long before her apartment was blown up. What had become of them, that they were this broken team who could only imagine what it was like to be happy? What had happened to the days when she didn't feel guilty for feeling the simply joy of being with the man she loved, knowing only too well that it could never be true for two people that she cared deeply about?

_"Booth is a big, strong, _hot_ guy who wants to save your life. I mean, you actually have a knight in shining FBI-standard-issue body armor. So cut him some slack."_

To this day, she would never forget that look that Brennan had given her in response, even though she hadn't ever offered a verbal reply. It had been a look overflowing with knowledge that she didn't want to believe in. It was just... one of those _faces_ that she made, that made Angela want to freeze her in time and pull out a camera, just so she could show her what she looked like, and what she was trying to hide from that was so goddamn _obvious_.

_"God, if it goes up one more degree out there, I'm just going all out and ditching my clothing altogether."_

_ Brennan actually cracked a smile at that one. "I'm sorry to say that I won't be following your example. Although, I'm sure Hodgins wouldn't appreciate it. I've come to learn that most men don't like it when other men look at woman in interest when they are engaged in a sexual relationship with said woman."_

_ "Right. Sweetie, most people just call that jealousy. And I'm a bit disappointed in you. Despite your whole jealousy theory, I'm sure Booth wouldn't mind in the slightest."_

_ She frowned. "You mean if you decided to go naked?"_

_ Angela had to roll her eyes. "No, I meant if—You know what, never mind."_

Her eyes opened despite the fact that she hadn't made the conscious decision to do so, and found herself still alone in the silent lab. The office was dark, just as it had been, and she was still sitting at her Jack's workstation next to the platform. A helpless sigh slid from her parted lips, and she dropped her head back onto her arms, staring sideways at the same portion of the lab that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about all morning.

She had absolutely no idea how the investigation was going. She hadn't made any progress with the security cameras, and there wasn't much she could do about it at six in the morning. She was waiting to meet with the head of security from Brennan's building, who had agreed yesterday, through email, to let her take a look at how the system functioned. In all honesty, though, she didn't have very high hopes that she was going to have much success. There were any number of ways in which the cameras could have been messed with to cause the failure, and after so much time, finding the exact one, or any leads towards the person who had _caused_ them, just wasn't likely.

Booth's end of the investigating hadn't exactly been supplying them with details, either. After he'd left the lab the day before, none of them had heard a peep from his end. For all they knew, he could already be chasing down leads without telling them. She wouldn't doubt it for a second, with how well she understood the changes he'd gone through in the past year.

As to all the other forensic details, all Cam, Wendell, and Hodgins had been able to do thus far was verify just about everything the FBI had turned up about the case. All the details matched up with the reports, and nothing new had miraculously been discovered. The eagerness she'd felt yesterday, and the excitement which had filled the atmosphere around their small team, had evaporated throughout the long hours of silence and sleeplessness the night before, leaving her entirely drained this morning.

It was amazing how different things could look in the dull and early hours of a new day.

_"Ange, I don't know if I'm really in the mood for talking."_

_ "Sweetie, I've been worried about you all day. And... I get if you don't want to talk about it. But everyone needs someone that they can go to, if they decide they _do_ want to discuss it. So I'm here. If you need me."_

_ Her friend bit her lip, eyeing the ceiling for a long moment and seeming to weigh her options. They hadn't known each other very long; barely two months, in fact. But the fact was that Angela felt close to her for some reason. Like it was the two of them against the world, and like she was the only one that was going to care about the feelings that Brennan kept so carefully locked away. Because they were important, too, and everyone else around here was blind to that in the face of the hard, scientific face that the anthropologist displayed. Ange just couldn't help seeing beyond that._

_ "I was in foster care," she whispered at last, eyes darting across her face and then down to the floor. _

_ "Why?" Angela murmured carefully, keeping her tone neutral and slightly curious._

_ Brennan sighed. "My parents... they disappeared when I was fifteen. My brother took off; he was nineteen at the time. I haven't seen any of them since."_

_ "Oh my God," she managed after a long moment of silence. And then she did the only thing that she could think of, which turned out to be the right thing, and reached over to clasp a hand firmly on top of Brennan's._

Brennan had later told her that that was the first time anyone had ever cared when she'd told them about her past. She hadn't told many people, either. She had told only a select few, and all of them had disappointed her with their reactions. Naturally, after so much negativity, she'd simply started avoiding her past entirely with new acquaintances.

Now, thinking back on it, she couldn't fight back a few stray tears as they welled in the corners of her eyes and slowly slid down her cheeks, leaving icy paths in their wakes as the cool lab air rushed over them.

_"I was actually heading out to go meet a few friends from art school; you want to tag along? There'll be drinks, and hot guys."_

_ "I thought you were always telling me to avoid artists, because they lead long, lonely, and poverty-controlled lives?"_

_ "Well, sure. But these ones are hot."_

_ Brennan smiled slightly, but shook her head. "No thanks, Ange. I'm not much for the social setting."_

_ Ange pouted, "Aw, come on! It'll be fun, I promise. Tell you what, if you come along with me, I'll agree to tag along with you next time you get together with your anthropology friends."_

_ The look on her face changed in an instant, from slightly amused to a dark mask._

_ "Sweetie?"_

_ She just shook her head. "I don't... Ange, just go have fun, okay?"_

_ Her bag hit the floor with a thud and she shed her coat as she grabbed a chair and dragged it over so that she was sitting beside her friend at the desk. _

_ "You know that won't work on me."_

_ Brennan glared. "I'm serious. Just... go, alright? Please?"_

_ The 'please' was unusual, and it got to her. "I'll leave, but you have to tell me what's got you so upset first. I'm not leaving my best friend here in a bad mood without knowing what I did wrong."_

_ Brennan's mouth fell open slightly, and for some unexplainable reason Angela saw a sheen of tears suddenly coating her eyes._

_ "Whoa, Bren, I'm sorry..."_

_ She was shaking her head though, waving her off and biting her lip as she tried to maintain her composure. "No, I'm sorry," she managed finally, the tears fully blinked away and her face mostly composed. "I just... Ange, I don't _have_ friends. But you... you really... I'm your best friend?"_

_ Unbelievable. Only Brennan wouldn't have been able to see that after all the time they'd spent together. It had been practically a year now, after all. _

_ "Of course you are. Don't doubt it for a second. Now, we both know that you really want to come with me after all. So what do you say?"_

_ Brennan shook her head with a twisted little smile on her lips, and stood up. "You win. And Ange? I just..." her voice broke slightly, and she finally just whispered, "Thank you."_

For all her strength and brilliance, Brennan had been on of the most insecure and worried people Angela had ever met. Over the years, though, she'd changed... mostly because of Booth, but Angela liked to think that she'd played a role as well.

Her confidence about non-anthropological things had gone up miraculously, and her ability to understand people had astonished her on more than one occasion, even though Brennan was still convinced she was hopeless at it.

If there was one thing that she had never gotten, though, it was love. And that was probably what saddened her the most; knowing that Brennan had never understood the fact that she _was_ in love, and, almost as importantly, she was loved unconditionally back. If she could see Booth now, she would have to realize that it was true... only, now was too late for her.

"Angie?"

She turned and found Jack heading towards her, the glass doors sliding smoothly shut behind him. She'd never heard them open in the first place.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Did you get my note?" she questioned, blinking to clear her eyes before he got close enough to notice how moist they were. She couldn't do much about the tear tracks without him figuring it out, but she was hoping he wouldn't notice. They'd all been way too emotionally stressed these past few days; the last thing he needed was to deal with her breaking down on him again.

"Of course, but you didn't exactly explain... you just said that you were going to the lab and you'd see me there."

"Oh. Sorry, Jack, I just... it was a rough night. Couldn't get to sleep... you know how it can be. I thought I'd be more useful here, but apparently not. There's not much I can work on this early, and no one needs a sketch or a recreation or anything..."

"Well, I'm here now... maybe you can help me identify a few more of the mold types that I've found in the particulates? The FBI got most of them, but I've found a few extra types that weren't catalogued..."

"Sure. I'd love anything that would keep my occupied, to be honest."

"I don't blame you in the least," he said with an agreeable smile. His eyes traced the shining streaks down her face, but he made no comment as he turned away to go gather the samples from his storage area on the other half of his workspace. She hurriedly brushed them away, rubbing at her eyes at the same time and feeling grateful that he'd known enough not to bring it up. She wasn't in the mood for talking about it now; she was in the mood for some action. Maybe she could get out of this slump that the morning had brought upon her if she was productive and they actually started to figure things out on their own. Jack's news that he had found a few things that didn't match up perfectly was a good start, and a small glimmer of hope that she was willing to hold onto until something more concrete came along.

As Hodgins set up one of the samples and slid it under the microscope, flipping the switch and lighting it up, he commented, "I heard from Caroline that they let Zach watch the anniversary on TV."

Ange sighed sadly. "He would have really liked to have been able to go... you know how he was about her."

"Yeah, I know," Jack murmured. "I practically lived with the guy... he might not have been as obvious as Daisy about it, but he _idolized_ her. Would have done anything to make her happy."

She nodded, fighting off the rising lump in her throat.

Zach hadn't heard the news right away, being locked up in the 'loony bin,' as he called it. She hadn't been able to fathom the idea of telling him herself, so soon after it had happened, but she'd known that she didn't want him to find out some other way. It had ended up being Jack that told him, though, while she sat by his side, her hand clasping his so tight that both their knuckles had gone pure white.

_"I don't often have visitors," Zach informed them in his calm way. His way of saying that he'd missed them, she knew._

_ "I'm sorry, man," Hodgins said. "That's not why we're here, though."_

_ "I haven't seen any of the others either."_

_ "We know, Zach," Ange managed to say, her voice breaking. Those were pretty much the only words she would manage during their visit._

_ "Zach, we've got some... bad news."_

_ "Dr. Brennan?" Zach questioned, for the first time fear creeping into his tone as his gaze flashed back and forth between them, searching for an answer. She didn't know how, but he just _knew_._

_ She nodded, averting her eyes, and Hodgins took a deep breath before giving the details._

_ "Zach, her apartment was bombed two days ago. She... she didn't make it."_

_ His face went white, and he fell back in his seat, his mouth opening and closing with no sound escaping._

"Here, take a look at this," Hodgins said, turning the microscope towards her. She leaned forward, pushing the memories out of her head and focusing on the cells that appeared as she peered into the eyepiece.

"I think this might have gathered in storage..." she muttered as she adjusted the focus. Over the years, she'd learned far more about his career than she would have cared to. There were some facets of particulates that she _really_ didn't need to know about for day to day life. But at times, it was incredibly useful.

"That was my initial analysis too, but that's what I don't _get_. The conditions would have had to be warm, and in general, storage is kept cool to avoid stuff like this."

"So you think that the evidence spent time in a warm area instead of with the rest of cold case storage?"

He shook his head. "To be honest, I think these samples aren't original."

"You think the evidence has been tampered with?" she asked in disbelief.

"I think that's very possible."

"...But... who would do that?"

"Someone that was trying to cover something up."

"Where did these samples come from?"

He cleared his throat and said as stiffly as he could manage, "Rubble gathered from the body."

She hurried to overcome the initial jolt that came from his words. "So why are there no signs of... skin cells? There should be some present, shouldn't there?"

"Precisely why I was first suspicious. There's something weird about how the only samples that were effected seem to be the ones collected directly from the body."

"You're saying you think the FBI knows something... and they're keeping it from us?"

"You know I've always been a conspiracy theorist, but I'm serious about this. Something doesn't add up; you can see it just as clearly as I can. And, yeah, I'm suspicious. When it comes to Brennan, and finding out what happened to her, I'm not taking anything for granted. I'm going to figure this out. God, what I could _really_ use would be Zach's help on this... that guy could see things that I never even imagined, and he barely even _tried_ half the time."

"Maybe there's a way."

"What?"

"Maybe we can get Zach's help on this. The FBI can get him out temporarily to work with us under supervision, or something, can't they?"

"That's actual... that might be possible. You know I love you, right? I'm going to go call Caroline and see if she can pull some strings..."

Angela nodded eagerly, and then smiled to herself as he hurried to her office to use her phone. A thought occurred to her, though, and she suddenly stood and followed after him.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Cullen glanced up over the top of his glasses at the knock on his door, and offered a tense smile as his guest stepped in.

Angela returned the gesture with a much wider smile, taking a seat without waiting for him to offer it to her. She leaned forward, resting her arms on his desk and pulling her hands together to intertwine her fingers. Her smile stayed firmly in place, but she stayed silent, waiting for him to make the first move.

"Hello Mrs. Hodgins."

"Montenegro," she corrected smoothly. "I kept my name."

"Of course you did," he muttered. "I just got off the phone with Caroline Julian. She said I should be expecting you."

"So you know why I'm here."

He sighed and pulled his glasses off, folding them neatly and setting them aside. "I'm going to start by saying that it could be done. _However_," he eyed her seriously as she opened her mouth to speak, and it snapped shut again. "I want to know _exactly_ what your plans are."

She nodded emphatically. "Zach will be helping me with the security footage. He's brilliant in just about every field, but you already know that. He'll be able to trace the source of the failure much faster than I'd be able to. Not that I couldn't do it, of course."

Her and Hodgins had come to a consensus in her office, that it would be best to not mention what they suspected to anyone, least of all the attorney or Booth's boss. That way, they could handle it in their own way, without being stonewalled. She already had some theories of how to go about it, too. Besides, Zach would be a huge help to her on her part of the investigation as well, and no one could deny that.

Cullen gave a noncommittal grunt. "Sweets is already assigned to Booth, but I'll have him watch over Dr. Addy as well. He was the evaluator on his case to begin with, anyways..."

"Thank you, sir," she said, beaming.

He gave her a scrutinizing look, and then shook his head and sighed, waving his hand to indicate that she should leave.

Just as she reached the door, though, he cleared his throat and she turned back.

"Ms. Montenegro, I haven't told this to many people... but I would very much like to see this bastard behind bars. Do what you have to do."

She nodded briefly, her eyes deep with sorrow that she was pretty sure she saw reflected back at her, and then let the door shut behind her on her way out.

**So I pretty much freaked out last night. Like... majorly. And in a good way, don't worry. Sooo happy. So unbelievably happy. And yes, there is a VERY good chance I will spend part of the summer writing an angsty BxB story involving how they work through the trials of discovering what all this means for them, as friends, partners, a couple... and trying to work out where they are heading. Huh. That actually sounded like a pretty good summary. Maybe I'll use that, haha.**

**Alright yes, I'm rambling. But I'm happy. So... I guess that's what matters right about now, with this long hiatus from the show ahead of us. **

**Also, can I say how thrilled I was that they used that song of Adele's for the final sequence? And the weirdest thing is... I heard that song for the first time earlier that same day, before seeing the finale. Needless to say I'll be listening to it a million times (as well as replaying that final scene. Booth's smile? To die for.) before we come back for season 7-wow, 7? I've been watching this show for half the time it's been on the air, now. Amazing. **

**~Jill  
**


	10. Phantom Shadows

**A/N: Here we are, some answers at last. I hope this will explain a lot of things. Also, I'd like to say that somehow my PMing became disabled, and I didn't realize it for a very long time. Now it is back up and running, and I just want to make sure everyone knows that it was never my plan to disable it, haha. **

**The date here is in 2011; it refers to when Brennan is, not when the events in the flashbacks occur. **

_Chapter 9- Phantom Shadows_

_May 10__th__, 2011_

_The key turned smoothly in the lock, and she pushed open the door, lightly tossing her keys in the bowl to the side and giving the door a soft push that clicked it shut. Absently, her hands fumbled with the chain and slid it through the lock, and then she sighed and turned to her pristine apartment._

_ Another late night that she was going to spend alone._

_ She'd been at work until past nine, despite protests by Ange, and later, Cam. Eventually, she had known that she had to get some supper or she wasn't going to be able to drive herself home. On the way, she'd stopped at an old haunt... Wong Fu's. Probably not the wisest decision, because it seemed to emphasize the fact that she wasn't eating with anyone, but she knew that it shouldn't matter. Just because tonight Booth was busy didn't mean that she should be _upset_. That was just plain foolish._

_ The scents wafting towards her nose from the bag in her arms were undeniably tempting. Warm noodles, a cup of soup who's contents she didn't yet know thanks to Sid's insistence that it was 'what she needed,' and a few of the warm rolls that he always gave with take-out meals. Secretly, she loved them; it was a part of the reason why she had always preferred taking their food home back when they were regulars there. That, and the fact that late nights with paperwork were far more relaxing, and fun, even, when they were spent with Booth and containers of steaming food shared between them._

_ Her high heeled shoes clicked loudly on the hardwood floors as she made her way into the kitchen, where the sound changed pitch the moment her feet hit the tiles. She set the food down, pulling out a dish and a fork before unrolling the top of the brown bag and pulling out the containers, dumping them one at a time onto the plate and not really caring where anything fell, as long as it made it onto the familiar blue-patterned dish rather than her marble countertop._

_ She left the dish where it was and made her way towards the hall, thinking nothing of the sound of someone else's apartment door shutting down the hallway as she passed closer to her own door. She pulled off her heels as she went, leaving them where they fell and sighing in relief as she stepped into her bedroom and squeezed her newly-freed toes in the carpet beside her bed. _

_ The red comforter looked inviting, and she knew that the sheets underneath would be cold and refreshing. But she was more hungry, at the moment, than she was tired. And she knew she'd never be able to get to sleep with her stomach clenching like it was at that very moment. Taking an early lunch with Booth had been nice, but now she was almost regretting it._

_ Ditching her slacks and button up dress-shirt for her favorite pair of comfy jeans and a plain white blouse, both of which she found in the overflowing hamper, she finally made her way back up the hall towards the kitchen, turning back at the last second as she realized she'd left her hair pinned up. She pulled out the hair tie and was heading towards the bathroom to brush out her stiff locks, as well as toss the unneeded tie back in the draw, when everything went bright white, pain hit her from all sides, and the world faded into black._

Her hands shook as she attempted to hold the coffee pot steady to pour a warm mug full of the relaxing liquid, her only good eye blurring and making the task twice as challenging.

Days like this were days that made her want to stay in bed. Either that, or drink until she didn't remember anything. But seeing as her alcohol was running low, that wasn't an option. And, well, she wasn't sure she wanted to face the hangover. Over the past year, she'd experienced different levels of the possibilities that might occur if she just gave up and went with that option.

But there was a part of her that simply wouldn't allow her to choose that way out. It was the side that had seen exactly what drinking could do, and who it could hurt. And she had learned enough of _his_ past to know that she wasn't going to let herself turn into something that she didn't recognize, even if no one was going to see her anyways. It would matter, because she would be the one that had to live with it, and _she_ would know. That would be enough, even without having to look into a metaphorical mirror to recognize herself.

She couldn't recognize her face in a real mirror, to begin with, she thought bitterly.

Which was why there were no mirrors in the house. There had been, though. At the start.

_Her eyes fluttered slowly, and she felt far more tired than she could ever remember being in her life. Her limbs were heavy, and her eyes felt sunken back in her head. Something was covering her left view; she could blink, but all she saw was darkness while the other began to piece together shadows and patches of light into shapes._

_ As something moved, she tried to open her mouth and heard a low gurgling noise. It took a long moment for her to realize that it had come from her own throat, and then it repeated as she tried to make any sound. Eyes now wide, she attempted to move her arms but found that they were stiff. Frozen._

_ "She's panicking!" a voice shouted. A few other voices murmured indistinctively in the background._

_ "Dr. Brennan? Dr. Brennan, can you hear me? It's alright!"_

_ Slowly she stopped moving, and realized she'd been thrashing back and forth in an attempt to move anything she possibly could. Her head throbbed._

_ "You're in the hospital." It was the same female voice, this time closer to her head. A hand rested on her shoulder, and she was more than a little relieved to be able to feel the pressure from it. "Don't try to talk just yet, you're still very heavily medicated, and you're not fully recovered from the surgery, so try not to move much."_

_ Despite the nurse's request, she managed to open her mouth, and tested her tongue on her lips, wetting them and finding that they were cracked and dry. _

_ "Why?" she croaked._

_ "I'm afraid you were in an explosion, dear," the woman said quietly. "But you'll be fine if you just let us take care of you. Now, if you'll relax, I'll go fetch you some water."_

_ Weakly she nodded, her eyes fluttering shut again. Things were starting to come further into focus on her right side, but to the left it was all still blocked out. She couldn't comprehend possible reasons in her current state. Her mind felt fuzzy and weird. Probably from the drugs..._

_ A short while later someone moved beside her again, and she turned her head, blinking to clear her vision. The bed was slowly raised and she was offered a plastic cup. Her left hand attempted to reach up for it, but a shot of pain whisked up from her wrist to her shoulder and she gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, glancing down and realizing for the first time that her arm was bandaged in several places._

"_Your injuries might prevent you from a few normal functions... your surgeon, Dr. Davis, will be in to discuss it with you in a little while. For now, see if you can work on functioning with just your right arm. I understand that you're right-handed anyways. Just be careful with your wrist."_

_ She nodded numbly, not quite grasping the idea that her left arm wasn't functioning properly. It was just too hard to take in at the moment, let alone consider the ramifications. Her right arm was shaky, and a thin cast indicated that she'd either broken or fractured her wrist. There was an IV attached to her finger, but she managed to grasp the cup. The nurse, who's nametag she could now read—Michelle, it said—kept a grip on it just in case, and she was grateful as her fingers weakened and lost their purchase only a moment later. She got a few sips of the cool liquid, relishing the feel of it going down her parched throat. Her stomach felt empty, too, now that she thought of it. But she wasn't quite hungry, for some reason._

_ When the cup was placed on the table by her bed, she slowly reached her hand up to find what was obstructing her left eye. She found a gauze patch, and realized as she blinked again that if she focused, she could feel her lashes brushing against the inner side of it._

_ "My eye," she said. It was meant to be a question, and Michelle took it as such._

_ "The doctor will explain everything for you. For now, you should get some more rest. That's the best way to heal."_

_ She knew that already. She'd been in enough hospitals in her lifetime. What she really needed to know, though, and very soon, was just what had happened to her. As her mind started to focus on the details, she was overwhelmed with questions that she didn't have the ability to ask. It was infinitely frustrating._

_ The drugs were still doing their work, though, and whether she liked it or not, she felt exhausted. _

She made her way to her living room, settling into her computer chair and leaning back, clutching the coffee mug like a protective totem of some sort. She knew it wouldn't protect her from the memories, but for what little she could do, she was willing to try.

For the most part, her days remained very much focused in the present day, and on her isolation. There were these days, though, the ones she'd come to classify simply as the bad ones, where she couldn't seem to stop thinking about what had happened.

_ When she next became aware of her surroundings, she found herself completely alone in the room. Now that she had awakened once there didn't seem a need to monitor her as closely, it seemed. The familiar call button was nearby, but she didn't press it. A few moments alone might be what she needed. _

_ For the first time, her thoughts didn't immediately register on herself, but on the _lack_ of anyone else. _

_ Booth. Angela. Hodgins. Cam. _

_ Where were they? Did they know what had happened? Were they here? Why hadn't she seen any of them? Why wouldn't Booth have been right be her side when she first woke up? She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't have bothered listening to any doctors or nurses. He'd have done whatever it took to be right with her._

_ So where was he?_

_ She wasn't going to lie to herself and pretend she wasn't hurt by his absence. Not to mention she would have done just about anything to have him there for pure reassurance. His voice would have soothed most of her fears, at least for a little while._

_ "Dr. Brennan," a new woman's voice said, accompanied by the steady clicking of heels. She had to crane her head to see the woman, who was approaching from her left side. She was honey blonde, with a pair of glasses perched neatly on her nose. She removed them as she got closer, and hooked them in the pocket on the front of her white coat. _

_ Taking her chart, she flipped a few pages, and then looked to her and smiled in a way that was probably meant to be reassuring._

_ "I'm sure you have many questions. I'm Dr. Kate Davis; I was your surgeon."_

_ "Has anyone been by to see me?" she asked, speaking the only thing currently on her mind. Her injuries were forgotten in the face of what it meant that no one was here with her._

_ Something flickered across the doctor's face, but she spoke briskly when she answered. "Let's focus on you first, and then we'll discuss the rest."_

_ Alarm bells were going off in her head. She could practically see the flashing lights._

_ "Is everyone alright?" Oh God, had he been with her? Or Angela? She couldn't seem to remember the events that had led up to her arrival here._

_ "Yes, yes, you were alone in your apartment when the bomb went off."_

_ "What about the other people in my building?"_

_ Dr. Davis smiled patiently, as if she would prefer to get to the medical details, but she answered anyways. "Your elderly neighbor, unfortunately, was DOA from the blast. Everyone else was either unharmed or faced minor injuries."_

_ That meant something, she knew, that she was the only one in serious condition. The points weren't connected yet, but the idea was starting to appear in her thoughts that there was reasoning behind all this._

_ "What happened to me?" she finally asked, and the doctor relaxed, flipping a page on the chart smoothly. _

_ "The blast hit you on the left side, and so it took most of the damage. There was a great deal of shrapnel, and you had some internal bleeding from a ruptured spleen, which we had to remove."_

_ She couldn't form a response, and so simply stared and waited for the doctor to continue._

_ "You left arm was also penetrated by shrapnel," she indicated the bandages that were wrapped around Brennan's upper arm. "There was some minor nerve loss, but with some therapy you should regain full function of your arm."_

_ "I... I _should_?" she managed to stammer._

_ "I can't promise that your arm will function exactly as it used to, Dr. Brennan, but with the effort put in, there is every likelihood that it will heal fully."_

_ She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and finally shook her head, not sure what to say. "My eye?" she managed at last, fear palpable in her tone._

_ Now the doctor's expression darkened and she sighed, flipping the papers back and setting the chart down. "Dr. Brennan, you sustained severe trauma to the left side of your face. When you were thrown into the wall by the initial blast, you hit your shoulder, which was a minimal injury, and broke your wrist by instinctively reaching out to catch yourself. As a result you maintained little head injury on the right side. The shrapnel, however, caused deep lacerations to your cheek tissue as well as your zygomaticus major."_

_ Someone had clearly told this woman that she was a doctor herself, and didn't need layman's terms to understand her diagnosis._

_ She nodded weakly, mostly to urge the doctor to continue speaking as soon as possible. She had to know. She _had_ to._

_ "We were unable to fully preserve your vision," she said finally, carefully. "For a while, you might be able to see shadows. You might even be able to see them permanently, or perceive changes in light. But in all likelihood, you will lose all sight in that eye."_

_ Ice water. That's what it felt like... like she'd been thrown into a lake with no bottom, and she was sinking forever into its depths, with the cold simply wrapping around her like chains and aiding in her decent. _

_ Her life, her world, collapsed. She closed her eyes fully, and memories flashed through her thoughts, remembering everything the way it had been. Remembering the world through two portals of light and color. Trying helplessly to imagine if that were to be divided in half._

_ How was she going to function? She would have to adapt, yes, but... _how? _In what conceivable way could she continue to live her life in the same fashion that she'd been loving so much for the past five years? And anthropology? The use of her eyes was essential... the most important sense in finding causes of death and anomalies. Only one eye... only one eye to see so much..._

_ Booth._

_ What about Booth? What about her field work, and everything else about their partnership? _

_ Suddenly she was overcome with a need to _see_. _

_ "Take the bandages off," she whispered, opening her eyes and hating how the world only appeared to her right "Take the bandages off, and give me a mirror."_

_ Dr. Davis hesitated, but as she continued to stare her down, she relented and stepped forward, carefully pealing the edges of the gauze away and removing the bandage from her face entirely._

_ She took a mirror from a station in the corner, and silently held it out to her. With a shaking hand, she accepted it and then turned it towards her face. _

She set the coffee cup down and massaged her temples, closing her eyes and breathing in and out deeply.

After all this time, it didn't make a difference. She still felt almost exactly the way she had on that day.

_If she were to hold up her hand and block out the left side of her face, her reflection would have looked exactly as it always did. On the right, her skin was clear and, while a bit paler than usual, porcelain white. Her blue eye was piercing, and her eyebrow arched over it delicately. Her lips were thin and chapped, but the muscles could still pull them up into a smile._

_ Only, it was a half smile. On the left, a deep scar ran the distance from her chin to her forehead, thinning and branching off as it traveled upwards. _

_ "What was it?" she whispered, the words sounding foreign, as though it hadn't been her voice speaking them. _

_ "A shard of glass. The windows were shattered in the explosion," the doctor said softly. _

_ She couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the answer as she continue to stare down her reflection as if she could make it turn away and reveal the only reality that she wanted to see. Only, she lost the contest of strength, and it was her gaze that fell away as she stared at her lap, took in the site of her hospital gown and her bandaged arms. For the first time, she spotted the thin scar lines that traced up her left arm, thickening gradually as they disappeared beneath the bandages. She didn't want to think about what she would find under them._

_ Gradually, her gaze returned to the picture of her new image, and she opened her lips, watching the change in the half-stranger before her. Half of her lips parted, while the other side attempted to follow but only made it half way. It explained why speaking had seemed so strange, and why her voice was off. She bit back a slight sob, vowing not to show emotion in front of this woman who was so... put together. _

_ Her eyebrow, too, was drawn in an unfamiliar way downwards. When she tried to raise it, it barely responded. _

_ "You probably don't want to hear this," the other woman said softly, "But you have to understand how lucky you are to be alive. And those scars will fade... not fully without extensive plastic surgery... but they won't be as red as they are now."_

_ 'That won't bring back my sight,' she thought silently, but she didn't voice the bitter words. They wouldn't do any good for the situation, and besides, her throat was feeling rather constricted._

_ At last, she managed to focus on the point that she had been most desperate to see in the first place. _

_ The doctor had been right in saying that she'd be able to see some shadows. They were there, like phantoms in the back of her mind more than actual objects in the room. When she turned her gaze so that her right side could see them, though, they materialized into their true forms. _

_ The eye itself was no longer blue. _

_ While she had never considered herself a vain person, it was probably that fact which sent her over the edge and allowed the first of many tears to slip from her right eye. The left didn't seem capable of producing tears. Whether that was temporary or permanent, she didn't care to find out. She'd found out far too much already. _

_ Her eyes were the one feature that she'd always loved, regardless of anything else she might have hated about herself. In high school, in college, and throughout her career, their brilliance had always garnered comments and compliments. She had loved the way they sparkled, even when her face had been pale and drawn and her hair had been limp and greasy._

_ Now... her left one was a pale shade of its former glory. Tinted with clouds of sightlessness and reddened from whatever medication they'd applied to it. _

_ "Dr. Brennan." She was brought back to reality, and lowered the mirror, visibly shaking. Gently, the doctor removed it from her grasp. "I'd like to reapply the bandages, if you wouldn't mind?" she requested softly, her eyes lit with sympathy for the first time since she'd entered the room. She got the idea that this woman probably didn't deal much with patients who were awake, and she nodded, averting her watery gaze._

_ The grateful woman stepped around her bed and replaced the bandages across her eye and partially down her cheek, where the damage was worst. She realized now that she hadn't even noticed how much bandaging was on her face to begin with. The next thing she noticed was that the pain medication was starting to wear off. That was probably why she was becoming more aware of feeling in her body. And why little flickers of pain were starting to shoot through her limbs, spreading and intensifying. She winced, and the doctor, Kate, she suddenly remembered her name was, pressed the button beside her bed a few times._

_ Through the sudden hazy fog, she remembered that she'd wanted to ask something. Something about... someone that she wanted to see... someone that was... supposed to be here..._

_ "Get some more rest," the woman's voice drifted to her from far away, and then she was gone into oblivion._

At some point, she'd picked up the remote and flipped on the television to distract herself, but only now did she become aware of it. On the screen, Ellen was just starting. The loud music and the cheering echoing through the room were unfamiliar and yet captivating at the same time. The reminiscent shine of a world lost. Vaguely, she recalled watching this show once or twice when Angela had dragged her over for morning coffee before work back in the earliest days of their friendship.

It was almost like a window into a fairytale. An ideal world, where everything was light and could be made fun of. Where comedy outshone sorrow, and celebrities got to act like fools while enjoying it every bit as much as the audience.

Involuntarily, she imagined what might happen if she ever _did_ return to the real world. She was famous... probably more so now, because of the way she'd _died_. Not what she'd wanted... not what _anyone_ would want, but it was true regardless.

She would be that tragic story. That 'before and after' picture slideshow. That sympathetic murmur from the audience. She would be that story that people discussed with their friends and followed up with 'so _sad_, isn't it?' She would be everything she didn't want to be.

One of the million or so reasons why she knew that her situation was for the best. As a justice preserver, she wanted whoever had done this to be punished for it. But, at the same time, she didn't want to be freed from this isolation. She didn't want to have to go back to a life that no longer waited for her. Things were moving on back in the place she'd come from, and she wasn't the same person she had been. There was no way her family and friends hadn't changed just the same. Grown and learned and expanded who they were.

She was that last puzzle piece that didn't fit. The one that was twisted every which way until the puzzle was completed... and it was realized that it didn't even belong in the box to begin with.

_Light filtered in through her good eye gradually, and she blinked and looked around, disoriented and confused until she recalled where she was, and why._

_ It took a long moment before she realized that there was someone else in the room, and she startled and jerked her head to the side as she took in the form of a man leaned back in the chair to the left of her bed._

_ For just a brief second, a glorious, joy-filled moment, she thought it to be Booth at last. But then her vision adjusted and she realized that this man's structure was all wrong. Another few seconds and she'd identified who he was._

_ Cullen had dozed off in a chair beside her, and she felt her blood run cold like ice. Visits from Cullen were never positive experiences. Especially when she didn't have Booth nearby to confirm his safety, and know for sure that the visit wasn't because of her partner._

_ She strongly doubted the truth of what she'd been told about everyone else being okay. She was well-acquainted with how hospitals worked, and in general they didn't involve telling a patient highly stressful information when they were in recovery. They would have lied. They would have, without a doubt, covered up the truth to insure her safety and speedy return to full health._

_ Just as she was getting ready to wake him up, he began to stir, grumbling slightly and then lifting his head up._

_ "Dr. Brennan," he said, realizing that she was staring at him. He sat up quickly, fixing his suit and straightening his tie as if he'd just realized how his position must look, and how unprofessional he had appeared. She didn't bother telling him that she didn't care; he wouldn't have listened anyways._

_ "Where's Booth?" she demanded instead._

_ "Agent Booth is... he's fine," Cullen said. The hesitation, though, didn't go unnoticed._

_ "No, he's not. Don't lie to me. I just woke up here, alone and... and find out that my apartment was blown up. Don't tell me he's _fine_. If he was fine, he'd be here. I know he would..."_

_ Cullen buried his head in one of his hands. _

_ "Dr. Brennan, we have been unable to discover the identify of the person or persons responsible for the explosion in your apartment building. Because of this... I have been given the responsibility of deciding where the investigation will go. You have been declared legally deceased, Temperance."_

_ The use of her first name jarred reality into focus that much harder. _

_ "You faked my death?" she stammered in disbelief, flashes of her ten days of hell believing Booth to be dead going through her mind. "No. No, you can't do that. I won't let you."_

_ "Dr. Brennan," he began patiently, as though he'd been fully anticipating this, "If you were to go back to your life, I don't believe you would last a week. Witness protection would be your only option, no matter what. It makes things _infinitely_ simpler if you are untraceable and whoever is after you thinks they've succeeded."_

_ "What day is it?" the unrelated question shot from her lips as several things clicked together in her mind and she realized that points weren't adding up. The way he was talking..._

_ Another sigh. "Today is May thirteenth."_

_ "Thirteen? I've been... I've been out for a week?"_

_ "In a coma, yes. You have to... understand; my hands were tied. We weren't even sure you were _going_ to wake up, for quite a while."_

_ A memory, that of her first being given the news of his death, suddenly came vividly into her head, and another piece fell into place._

_ "No. No, no, no..." she choked out. "You told... you already told _Booth_..."_

_ Cullen seemingly didn't think it wise to speak. He bowed his head low and laced his fingers together._

_ "You... you tell him _now_," she practically shouted. "You get me a phone, and you... you let me talk to him. Do you understand me?"_

_ He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know how you're feeling, Dr. Brennan."_

_ "No, I _highly_ doubt that. You've been in the loop every time something like this has happened. _I _was the one that was left out last time. _I _was the one that faced the consequences. Do you have... any _idea_, what I went through?" It was probably the drugs, but she suddenly didn't care how much she told Cullen, so long as Booth didn't suffer through what she had faced two years ago. "It's been... it's been _seven_ goddamn days! If... if Booth hadn't come back after those _ten_, I don't know... I have no idea how I'd have gone on. I was ready to quit my job, did you know that? And I was praying for some killer to come after me and just _end_ it. If Booth... if you let him..."_

_ "Dr. Brennan, if you might let me explain? Please?"_

_ She glared at him, still breathing heavily. She was actually surprised no nurses had come in. The heart monitoring machine was going rather erratic at the moment._

_ "Outside this door, right now, are two US Marshalls. There is a cabin in a location that I'm not going to reveal at this time, where you will be relocated to. Protection will be as you deem appropriate. You will receive a new name, and will be free to work from your home. You can dye your hair or get a wig for going out in public, and the Marshalls will provide you with a cover story to give the locals to prevent suspicion or questioning that might draw attention. When this case is closed, you will be able to testify against the bastard that did this and then get on with your life."_

_ "I want a list," she said simply. "You let Booth have a list. I want a list, and I want everyone on it notified, regardless of what Sweets or anyone else has to say about it."_

_ Cullen was already shaking his head. "We have every reason to believe that whoever this is, they have been following you for a while. This means that they have also been watching those closest to you, Booth in particular. I know that you don't like the idea of Booth believing that you are dead, but if he knew you were alive he would behave much differently, even if he tried to keep up an act. We simply cannot risk the possibility of it being discovered that you are alive."_

_ "And what if you never find who did this?" she demanded. "What if they're never caught? Do you expect Booth to spend the rest of his life believing I'm dead while I live in some ridiculous cabin in the middle of nowhere?"_

_ "If that time comes, then we will reassess."_

Yes, if that time comes...

For some reason, she suspected that Cullen had known all along that this would happen. Almost like he'd discussed it with Sweets, even though she knew that wasn't the case. Sweets believed, like the rest, that she was dead.

A year had passed, and no longer did she believe it wise to inform anyone, let alone Booth, that she was alive and well.

Things _could_ change, she'd come to realize.

And now... well, she was as good as dead. And that was something that wasn't going to change.

**Well, what did you all think? It's been a long time since I wrote this, but I can remember greatly enjoying it as I went. I hope reading it was just as enjoyable. Let me know :D**


	11. Lonesome Silence

**A/N: So sorry everyone; I actually forgot, with everything else going on, that this story was due for an update yesterday. Won't happen again :) Enjoy the chapter!**

_Chapter 10- Lonesome Silence_

_May 10__th__, 2011_

Booth's office was dark. He'd woken up with a headache, and it had only gotten worse since. As he massaged his temples again, he let out a soft groan and then lifted his head to stare once again at the thin lines of text covering the sheet on top of the file he was attempting to get through.

He'd been completely unsuccessful in his endeavors at her apartment building the day before. And no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't seem to find any information on Daniel Hallows. The man had had no family and apparently no friends either. No one even knew where he'd come from, and the name wasn't even concrete given that he'd been secretive and—according to his neighbors—had kept all his money and his documents in his apartment. All had been destroyed in the fire that followed the explosion. Remnants had been found, but nothing had been distinguishable. He'd called the lab and asked Ange to find the burnt paper scraps in the evidence box and see if she could pull anything more from them.

With nothing else to occupy himself, he'd finally turned to the one task that he'd actually been regretting.

Motive was one of the many things that had been lacking from the investigation. No one had ever figured out what the reasoning was... the only thing that seemed certain was that she was the intended target. For one, the coincidence of a well-known author living in the apartment that was targeted was just a bit much. The only other possible target would have been this Daniel Hallows that no one knew anything about... and that seemed unlikely as well. The man was elderly and his apartment had already been broken into once. If he was the target, there would have been better and less troublesome ways to do away with him.

In the weeks following the blast, he'd answered more questions than he cared to think about, all from that imbecile Weaver, about who might have been after her. The options were extensive, but none of them had hit the nerve he'd been expecting, which was why he really didn't think that any of them were responsible.

There was the Spanish mobsters that they'd dealt with in the beginning of their partnership, who had put a hit out on her. But that had been too long ago, and he had a feeling they had better thing to do than bring trouble down on their other endeavors after all this time.

Then, of course, there were the hundred or so criminals that she'd helped put behind bars.

_"I hate to bring it up, but I feel that it's relevant," Sweets said, clearing his throat slightly. Both Booth and Weaver turned to him with identical irritation evident on their faces. He didn't look really intimidated, though. More... sad. It was a look Booth was starting to get frustratingly familiar with. "There is the possibility that the killer... may not have been targeting Brennan specifically, but rather... using her."_

_ "What the hell does that even mean?" Weaver asked before Booth could._

_ Worry flashed across Sweets face, and he glanced at Booth as though trying to calculate his chances of survival. It only added to the agents trepidation as the psychologist began to speak again. _

_ "There is the... possibility... that whoever did this was actually targeting... Agent Booth."_

He couldn't lie and say that he hadn't considered it, masochist that he was, before Sweets had even brought it up. She would probably have called it egotistical, but he was more intent on believing it to be sickly realistic. Not to mention his guilty conscience hadn't done much to fight off any fresh suggestions of his fault in her death.

There was every chance that he was the true target. And if that was the case, well... whoever it was had succeeded. If anyone wanted to ruin his life and torture him for the rest of his existence, killing her _was_ the best way to go about it.

The idea, though, that she might be dead because someone hated _him_, was one that he had a hard time thinking about without wanting to go jump off the top of the Hoover Building.

There was no plausible reality in which her death wouldn't have destroyed him, but he would be lying if he said he hadn't wished, many times, that it had been some sort of accident. Some freak occurrence that he would have had _no_ control over whatsoever.

It was selfish, in a way, but the wish existed regardless.

And it would have kept him from doing what he was doing right now, too. Because, when he didn't have any evidence that the killer had struck because of something recent, or because of him, he had to go back further to see what might be in her past that could have led to this.

If there was one thing he truly didn't want to do, it was invade his dead partner's private life. She hadn't wanted him to know the details that she kept to herself while she was alive... it was a huge violation of the bond that had existed between them for him to simply dig through it now... even if it _would_ help to catch her killer.

The file laying open in front of him right now contained the details from her trip to Guatemala, the one she'd taken just before they'd become partners. He remembered that day at the airport clearly, and the way she'd laughed slightly as she threatened to shout 'kidnap' out his window if he didn't pull over. To this day, he didn't doubt for a second that she would have done it if he hadn't complied.

Over the years, she'd tamed somewhat... she hadn't blackmailed him or threatened him for most of their last years together. In fact, she'd usually been the first to jump to his defense in any situation.

Nothing of interest seemed to have happened on the vacation, and he'd already asked a few agents who owed him favors to dig up some info on her ex-boyfriend Peter as well as Oliver Laurier.

Several other thick folders lay underneath this one, though, and he was stalling despite the fact that he knew he would eventually succumb to reading them.

A soft knock at his door distracted him from the paradox, and he found Angela standing in the doorway with her head tilted to the side. "Hey, G-man," she said softly.

He managed a slight smile. "Hi, Ange. Anything new come up at the lab?"

She sighed. "No, not quite yet. I thought you might be able to use my company, and I do have something to ask you."

"What is it?" he asked, unsure if he should be concerned or not.

"I lied, we do have... some information. But we aren't sure what it means, and we need your help to find out if it's important."

He sat up straighter and shut the file to lean forward over it. She pulled up a chair across from him, clearly taking his interest as an invitation.

"Jack and I found something weird early this morning. We think that... there might be a chance that something was... tampered with. In the evidence."

Booth could feel a muscle in his jaw begin ticking as he clenched his teeth. "Explain," he said shortly, not sure he could get around his fury. And the last thing he wanted was to take it out on one of the few people he had left, when it was truly aimed at the very agency he worked for.

"Some of the particulate samples show signs that they haven't been with the rest in cold storage. They've gathered mold that the other samples didn't. And... Jack couldn't find any traces of skin cells in them."

He continued to stare blankly, trying to figure out what that would mean, when she finished for him.

"We think that the samples weren't the ones actually taken from... her body."

"So someone is trying to hide something?" he finally managed.

"It seems likely. We were hoping you might be able to... I don't know, snoop around a bit and see if you could find some other samples? I highly doubt they would have discarded the originals."

He was already nodding long before she finished. "I'll do what I can, Ange, don't worry about it."

She offered him a saddened smile of gratitude. "I knew you would, Booth. Now, why don't you tell me what you're working on here? This is a _lot_ of paper."

He grimaced. "I couldn't find anything from her neighbors, and... well, I had Cullen get access to these for me." One of the files was tossed in front of her, and she raised her eyebrows as she reached forward to flip it open.

"This is from Brennan's trip to Tibet. That was... ages ago."

"I know," he said, rubbing his temple. "I've got... her whole past, right here."

"You really think that it might be someone from that far back?"

"At this point... I don't know what I believe anymore. I don't even know if I _can_ do this... she never told me about any of this stuff. I only know... bits and pieces."

"Booth." Her tone was serious, and he met her eyes levelly. "Brennan would have told you everything eventually. You might not believe it, but you're a lot more like her than you realize. She never believed a lot of things I used to tell her, but that doesn't mean I wasn't right every single time. Because I was, and I'm right about this. You... you're that one person. You're the person that she would have told all her secrets to, because you wouldn't have judged her for them, and she knew that. She was just... she just had a hard time getting around to it. But I can tell that you know I'm right.

"Tell you what. I'll go over it with you, and we'll figure this out. If there is anything here that can get her justice, then we are going to find it. No matter what."

He hesitated, but then pulled out the next file beneath the one on her most recent Guatemala trip.

"She went to El Salvador a few months after I first met her..." he muttered, flipping it open.

"Oh God," Angela choked, her face going white. He didn't get a chance to ask her what was wrong, though, because the top page of the file answered his question for him.

His partner's face stared up at him, her eyes hollow and her face covered in bruises. She had a black eye and a large gash across her forehead that had been stitched up. For a long moment, he couldn't breathe.

In general, he avoided pictures of her. At the beginning, he hadn't been able to stop looking at them, and he'd filled every space in his apartment with a framed image of her smiling face. If he hadn't just seen her face plastered everywhere for the memorial ceremony, this picture would have hit another nerve as well as the one it was hitting right now.

"What happened to her?" he finally managed to ask, raising his eyes to stare helplessly at the woman across from him, who looked like she wanted to be sick.

"She was kidnapped, while she was... while she was identifying bodies of... of people that had been killed by gangs."

"She told you?"

Angela nodded helplessly, biting her lip. "When... when we had that case, with the guy who was trying to rebury his sister and father. When Bren beat up that gang leader, I confronted her about it. I was... worried. You know... you know how it was, with her. And she just... started telling me this story."

"I'd rather hear it from you then the reports," Booth said softly, closing the manila packet and shuttering the heartbreaking image out of sight.

Angela took in a shaky breath, nodding in apparent agreement. "I... I know, Booth. It's just... God, I don't know if I... if I _can_..."

He waited silently, internally wondering if he should just tell her he could read the reports after all, but instead she finally sucked in a deep breath and her eyes returned to his.

"She'd want you to hear it from me, since she can't... tell you herself." Another brief hesitation, and then she dove straight in. "They... p-put a bag over her head... tossed her in a cell. She said there were no... no windows. And a dirt floor. "

"What did they do to her?" he asked, terrified of what the answer might be.

"She never told me," Ange responded, shaking her head. "I-I always suspected there was more to it, but I... it's not like I wanted to push her into telling me. And... I guess a part of me really didn't want to know the truth. But... what she did say was that... that their leader threatened to kill her. Over and over again... and I know she was scared. Bren... she had this tough outer shell, but I... I could just see it in her face when she was telling me."

"What happened when she got back?"

"Nothing... she called and said she was taking an extended amount of time off... we didn't see her for another month. I figured out later, after she told me what really happened, that she must have stayed away to heal, so no one would ask her about it."

That was her, through and through. Putting herself through more pain all to avoid having to accept sympathy and care from the people around her.

And where had he been while all this was happening to her? He'd been at the bureau, working homicides on his own because he'd gotten her drunk to fire her, and she hated him.

"She never even mentioned it... God, what else has she been through?"

Ange hesitated, and then murmured. "There were a few foster homes, where... things weren't exactly..."

He grimaced. "I figured that, but she never... well, she did mention this one, with... a plate she dropped."

"The Wilder's," Ange said with a stiff nod. "That was one of the... last ones she told me about."

"And the others?" He didn't actually have access, yet, to the foster care files. Just the ones after she'd been released from the system.

"She was in... a lot of homes. I doubt I've heard about all of them. But... she did tell me about the last home she was in, the Carltons. She told me it was the worst one, but she never gave me any details. Just that she wished she could forget everything that happened there."

He closed his eyes, willing himself not to imagine what that could mean, but failing horribly. The idea of her suffering at the hands of people so cruel that they could hurt a helpless seventeen year old girl... it made him want to hunt them down and strangle them. In fact, he was very sorely tempted to do just that, and he was going to have to restrain himself when he eventually found them.

Because he fully intended to; they might know something. More than likely they hadn't seen or heard of her since then, and he knew her well enough to know that he'd have picked up on it if she'd seen anyone from that far in her past in the weeks before the bombing, but that didn't mean he couldn't dig into every detail of their lives and find _something_ that he could pin on them, just to get them locked up.

While he was at it, he might hunt down the Wilder's too, and any other creeps he came across once he got those files.

"You don't really think that any of her foster parents would have come after her, though, do you? None of them were ever charged for anything they did... and Brennan told me more than once that it was too late for that anyways. No one believed her back then, and there wouldn't be any evidence left now to use against them."

"Everything is worth looking into."

The look in his eyes must have given something away, because she didn't question it again. He had a feeling she'd be just as pleased to see these pieces of scum in prison for the rest of their lives, even if it wasn't for what they'd done back then.

"You probably aren't going to like this, but I think you might want to look into her college years. I went to art school, but from what I heard from Bren, and what I saw of her grad students, her field was enormously competitive. She would have had plenty of enemies that might not have... liked her success."

"Weaver's already covered that ground, but I was already planning on going over it again. And I intend to start with Michael Stires."

"He was at the memorial," Ange said immediately. "He's probably still in town... I can do some digging online if you like, and see if he's scheduled to lecture anywhere. I know he's been abroad lately, so your best bet is to get him soon."

"Anything you can do to help would be great." She nodded and got up to leave, offering him a reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, but he stopped her before she reached the door. "Ange, I get the feeling you were already here before you came in to see me."

She blushed slightly. "And what gave you that idea?"

"Nothing. Just a hunch."

She twisted her ring around her finger for a few seconds. "Fine. I was here to see Cullen, about getting Zach's help on the case."

"Zach?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. He hadn't heard the name in ages, let alone thought about how he might be useful in the investigation. "What did Cullen say?" he asked, watching her expression and hoping for a positive response. If anyone could see patterns he didn't, it would be that weirdo of a genius that he'd actually grown to like over those first years of his work with the Jeffersonian.

"It's being arranged. To be honest..." she hesitated and then moved back towards him at the desk, casting a quick glance over her shoulder to check outside his office for anyone that might be able to hear the conversation. "I'm hoping he might be able to help us with the mold and the questions Jack and I have about the particulates that were supposedly collected from her skin. So, if you're asked... he's helping me with the security footage. Which he'll be doing as well anyways, so it's not like you're lying or anything."

He managed to crack a smile. "Ange, I've never had a problem outright lying around here to get what I wanted. Not when it comes to... her. But thanks for the gesture, and I don't doubt he can find more than that idiot Weaver ever could."

She grinned back. "Alright. I'll keep you updated if we find anything new. Good luck on your end. And... try not to beat up any suspects that you don't like, okay? We might have the money to bail you out, but neither of us can get your job back for you if you get fired."

"I have no intent to get fired, don't worry. She's... well, she's counting on me to figure this one out without her. And I'm not going to let her down again."

For a moment she looked like she wanted to say something, probably challenge his use of 'again,' but finally she just nodded sadly, offered a little wave, and let the door shut behind her on the way out.

He settled back into his chair, sighing softly and gazing at the field of folders that littered the usually clear surface.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

He was half-dozing with a bottle of beer slipping from his grasp when he heard the key turning in his lock and immediately jolted upright, almost spilling the amber liquid all over his shirt. Not that it would have mattered; the thing was already dirty with barbeque sauce from a week or so ago. Convincing himself to do laundry had gotten harder with each passing month, until he'd started sorting out what he needed for work and leaving the rest of it where it fell.

His gun replaced the bottle quickly, though, and he crept towards his door, putting his back against a wall and listening for any signs of movement.

The door opened with no apparent attempt to be quiet, but just as he was edging towards the corner he heard, very plainly, "Dad?"

A sigh gushed out and he quickly holstered the weapon before stepping into view.

"Hey, bub," he said, attempting a grin as he enveloped Parker in a warm embrace.

Rebecca was still standing in the doorway holding the keys, and her face was set in a stern glare.

"Any reason you decided not to knock?" he asked.

She ran her eyes over him disapprovingly, and then took in the living room behind him, her gaze settling icily on the three empty bottles of beer that littered his coffee table.

"Parker," she said firmly, and the boy broke away from the hug, turning to her with a pout already set on his face. He could read her tone like an expert. So could Booth, for that matter. "Why don't you go use the bathroom; you were complaining all the way over."

He nodded, glancing between them like he knew that she just wanted him out of the way before he hurried out of site around the corner and the door to the bathroom shut loudly behind him.

"Actually, I did knock. Twice. Were you sleeping, or were you simply too drunk to figure it out?"

He couldn't recall hearing a knock, but he decided not to mention it.

"It's been a rough week."

"Oh don't give me that," she said, blowing out a breath and running her hand through her hair to pull it back out of her face, which was slightly red already. "It's been a bad _year_, for Christ's sake, Seeley. And we both know that it's going to be a bad _decade_ if you don't start _trying_ to make things better for yourself. You are forgetting about your _son_. Are you his father or not?"

Her voice had steadily lowered instead of rising, and for that reason it sounded far more menacing when she finished with a furious hiss, her eyes darting towards where Parker had gone to check for his reappearance.

"Of course I'm his father, Rebecca. Don't you dare question that. But you can't expect me to just... I don't know, _get over_ what happened."

"I know that. I've made it _very_ clear that I know that. She meant a lot to you, and to Parker as well. But the point I'm trying to make here is that she isn't _here_ anymore. Your _son_ is. And he misses you. When was the last time the two of you actually spent a full weekend together, huh? When was the last time you played football? Hell, he didn't even see you at all for Christmas this past year, because you were too busy wallowing at the closest bar you could find!"

In the ensuing silence they both heard the flushing toilet. She ground her teeth together.

"Get your act together, you hear me? I've been about as understanding as I'm going to be about this... Parker wants you to be his dad, and you are _failing_ at it. If this is what it's going to take, then I'm going to keep him away from you until you're back on your feet. Do you understand, Seeley? Do you get what I'm saying?"

He ran a hand along his neck, nodding shamefacedly.

He knew he'd been slipping. He'd been in a steady downward spiral for ages now. With the case though... when he solved the case, he could make everything right again. That would be when he could start to heal, he was sure of it. Then, maybe he'd stop seeing her everywhere he went, and stop imagining how things would be today if he could just fix the past.

It was the way that Rebecca sighed when she saw the dirty socks hanging off his table that really struck him, though, and he remembered imagining what Brennan would say, if she could just see what he'd let happen to his living space.

If not for himself, then for Parker, for _her_, he'd see what he could do about mending a few of the wrongs that he'd let take over his life.

The resolve in his eyes seemed real enough for his ex, because she nodded back, and let him talk with Parker for a short while before she left with him, promising that if the apartment was a sanitary living environment when she next stopped by, she'd let him have his son for the weekend.

He watched them go, and then he settled back onto the couch, staring blankly at the dark TV screen before he picked up the beer bottles and carried them to the kitchen, letting them all crash down into the trash bin before the lonesome silence claimed his apartment once more.


	12. Invisible Scars

**A/N: Wow, the weather around here is changing fast; now it really feels like summer :D Only a few more weeks left before I graduate... **

**I hope you all enjoy this chapter :)**

_Chapter 11_- _Invisible Scars_

_May 11__th__, 2011_

The television set was buzzing in the background, but she barely heard it. Her ears were ringing as her eyes scanned through the email for the fifth time.

_I'll be meeting with you this morning. Expect me at 10 o'clock sharp. –S.C._

No mention of what it was that he wanted to discuss.

"The FBI is giving this case as much attention as every other homicide," a man's voice said from the screen behind her. A burst of voices shouting questions rose immediately following the comment.

"Is it true that this case is a priority, though?"

"Because of it's nature, this case is currently at the head of our interests, yes."

"Have you received any credible tips since the lines were re-opened last Friday?"

"We have received many tips, all of which are investigated thoroughly. We do not currently have any new details ready to be shared with the press. As always, though, we will supply any new information we do have when we are ready."

A fresh round of shouts, and this time she didn't catch the question being asked, just the answer.

"Special Agent Harvey Weaver will remain in charge of this investigation. He was the lead agent at the start, and he remains so as we renew our efforts to seek the culprit in this crime."

"Is it true that Special Agent Booth is now involved in the investigation?" a voice called out over the others, starting a fresh roar of voices.

As it quieted somewhat, she caught the answer. By now, her eyes were riveted on the screen, and the FBI representative holding the press conference. She didn't recognize him, but she held on to his every word as he began to speak again.

"We have many agents involved in this effort."

"Is Agent Booth ready to make a statement?"

"Is it true he's been considering leaving the agency?"

"What do you know about the alleged relationship that had existed between the Agent and Dr. Brennan?"

"I'm sorry, but we won't be taking any more questions at this time." He turned away from the podium, and was flanked by several other agents as the surge of reporters pushed forward, continuing to shout questions regardless.

Their voices rang in her ears even after the station had switched back to the early morning talk show that had been on prior to it.

It was nearly ten o'clock, she noted, but her mind was more interested in other things.

First off... was this what Cullen was coming to speak to her about? Was Booth actually working on her case now? She shook her head. No, Cullen had promised her that he'd never let that happen. But then, there was that other nagging question about Booth even considering quitting his job. That had been one of the many options that she had wanted to avoid at all costs.

_"I will have a say in this," she said firmly, standing in the middle of her new living room._

_ "Of course. First, though..." he passed over the briefcase safe that he'd carried with him from the SUV, and held out the keys. "In this safe are all your personal documents."_

_ She accepted the keys and set the safe down on the nearest surface, which happened to be an armchair. _

_ On the top was a driver's license, and she picked it up and held it in front of her, trying to fix the image in her mind. The reality, though, was that the person smiling up at her was a complete stranger. A woman with very pale skin and straggly blonde hair. She wore no necklace, no earrings, and a simple, round-necked, green, long-sleeved shirt._

_ "Now, remember. If you're going out to buy... groceries or whatever it is you need, you'll need to wear the wig and the makeup."_

_ "I know," she said, barely avoiding a sigh of irritation. It wasn't like she could forget it, especially since leaving the house was likely to be an extremely rare situation._

_ "Your name is Brenda Summers. You were born April 15__th__, 1976. You had a stay-at-home mother named Carissa, and your father was an electrician named Calvin. You come from Seattle, Washington, and you are an only child. Both of your parents were older, and are now deceased. You are suffering from skin cancer, which will explain the thick make-up, as well as your desire to isolate yourself. You work from home, as a web designer. If anyone asks you about your job, don't elaborate."_

_ She didn't expect to be socializing much, so that wouldn't be much of a problem. _

_ "In addition, you're fairly isolated in location to begin with. Your nearest neighbor is several miles away. You have internet access, and a phone line that only connects to my office. Most communication will be through email, and you will use your new email address, under your new name. _

_ "As you requested, I've made some inquiries and set up a system with your publisher, Gina Harrow. She understands the consequences should she share the details that she now knows, but in the end it comes down to this. You will be ghost-writing your own novels. The paperwork claiming that it's all legal will need to be signed and falsely dated by you, giving your publisher the right to continue publishing the series written by someone else._

_ "Ms. Harrow is arranging a cover face to be the media's image of the ghost writer. She will let you know the details as soon as she has them. I expect you will have normal deadlines, and she'll have regulations to make sure that it isn't obvious."_

_ "Thank you," she said, nodding emphatically. It would be great to be able to _do_ something, even with the rest of her life taken from her. This was one small piece that she would maintain. One small amount of communication with the outside world, even if it wasn't direct._

_ "It's the least I could do, Dr. Brennan. Your lab might not have gone about things in the way I'd prefer a good portion of the time... but you got the job done better than anyone could. And you will be greatly missed." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't doubt that you're going to become very aware of that all too soon. Your funeral is being held this weekend."_

_ "Private service?"_

_ "Just as you requested. And your remains are 'in storage' so everyone is aware that it's an empty casket. No concerns there."_

_ "Who else knows, at the bureau?"_

_ "No one below my level, Dr. Brennan, except for the ME and some of the evidence team."_

_ "What about the agent in charge of the investigation?"_

_ "Weaver? No, he's not in the loop. Only those who are necessary have been told, or those that couldn't be avoided. Weaver can investigate without ever knowing that it's not a homicide. Probably better that way, to be honest."_

_ She nodded in understanding. "Good."_

For several days now, she hadn't been able to write. Nothing had come to mind when she'd made the attempt... it probably had a great deal to do with the one year anniversary and the fact that her mind had only been on the people she was without. It was hard to lose herself in a fantasy world when reality was so dark. The shadows had a tendency to filter their way into her characters moods, resulting in a rather depressing and unfitting chapter that she'd reread once before promptly deleting.

She stared at the email that was still displayed on her laptop screen before shutting it and, with a sigh, reaching down to pull open the bottom draw on the desk. With slightly shaking hands, she removed her copy of her second novel and flipped it open to the dedication page, reading the words that would forever be in her heart, and wondering if he ever did the same thing.

He still remembered her. She knew that much from what she'd seen on television... but more from how well she knew him. Booth wasn't the type to forget. He was the type to remember _everything_. For some reason, though, that only pushed the lump further up in her throat.

God, what had she done to him?

What he ever done to deserve this, besides choosing to be nice to her where most else had gone the other way?

And what had she ever done for him in return? Solved murders, sure. But how often had she upset him or insulted him, and barely even noticed that she'd done it? How many times had they gotten into fights because she couldn't understand things that everyone else could?

How many times had she pushed him away when all he was doing was trying to get closer, and show her how much he cared?

_"Why, why?" he asked, desperation in his eyes._

_ Her next words were rushed... her mouth simply spouting out the words that were already spinning in her brain without bothering to sensor._

_ "You... you thought you were protecting me, but you're the one who needs protecting!"_

_ "Protecting?" he asked, completely lost. "From what?"_

_ "From _me_. I... I don't have your kind of open heart."_

And she really didn't. If she did, she wouldn't be sitting here, and he wouldn't be miles away believing she was dead. If she had his kind of heart, she'd be with him and the rest of the team, regardless of what it meant for her safety. She would rather be with them and in danger than hiding away for the rest of her existence while they suffered for it.

The point, though, was that no matter how much she wished she could change the way things had gone... she really couldn't. Someday, she reminded herself willfully, they _would_ move on. It might take years, but Booth and the others would be able to, just like any other human being that had suffered a loss. She still vividly recalled the years after her parents' disappearance. The way she'd hated everyone and blamed the world for what she was going through. The way she'd isolated herself... and how she hadn't really gotten out of that protective shell until a few years ago.

But she had faith that Booth would find someone that could save him. She'd found him, after all, and he'd changed her in ways she'd never imagined possible. So there was every possibility that he'd be happy again. Without her.

And no matter how painful the idea was of never seeing him again, holding on to the prospect of his happiness was one of the few things she had left to give her some hope for the future.

There were days where she struggled more than others, where she wanted desperately, _selfishly_, to hear his voice in her ear. Wishfully, she would imagine how it would feel to have his warm arms surrounding her and his deep baritone huskily whispering reassurances into her ear, his breath stirring her hair.

That was how she liked to remember him, from those few moments of bliss that had been interspersed throughout their years of partnership. He'd worked so hard for those moments of contact... sometimes she still wondered if he'd ever known how much she wished he would push just that little bit harder and pull her to him even when he wasn't sure how she would react. Because she would have been grateful, inside, even if she tried not to show it to the rest of the world.

So she didn't call him, because she knew he deserved better than what she had to offer. All she could give him was the knowledge that she was alive. That was it. That was the only thing she could give back to him after all he'd done for her, and all the pain she'd caused him. And that single detail... she might not have known everything about emotions, but she knew _him_, and she knew that the knowledge that she wasn't dead would ruin any chance of him moving on. He'd cling to it, and never give up hope that someday she'd be coming back. He'd probably work himself crazy to find the culprit that had blown up her apartment... he'd do anything to make her safe again.

And that was something she simply couldn't allow, not with all he'd done for her. Why should he have to spend the rest of his life picturing a future that wasn't going to come? In the reality he was facing at this very moment, he could eventually accept her death and move on without feeling guilty for... betraying her, or whatever it was that he thought it would mean.

Then, of course, there was the fact that she really didn't know how she could ever explain. Towards the beginning, in those early weeks, she'd thought about it a lot more often. Come up with different ways to tell him, and to explain why he'd been lied to. But no matter how confident she was about one approach, eventually she would change her mind. Once, she managed to dial six digits of his phone number on a payphone in the local town before she'd hung up and walked away... that was about as close as she'd gotten to actually talking to him.

Now, over a year after the explosion, she couldn't fathom how he would react.

Would he be so happy about the truth that he'd forget to be angry? Or would he be furious with her for how much he had suffered? A year was a long time... she'd barely survived ten days without him; imagining a year was painful enough that it made her want to go throw up.

She liked to think that she would have been overjoyed to see him after a year... but she knew, in the deepest fibers of her being, that if he had done this to her, she would have been furious with him. She doubted she'd have been able to forgive him for it. Maybe after an extended period of time... but never in full. A part of her would have always carried the invisible scars of what he'd inflicted on her.

He wasn't her, for certain, but it was unrealistic to think that he wouldn't react similarly. They were both human. They both suffered from reactions to situations they had no control over.

He would hate her, surely.

And every time she tried to picture it, all that came to mind was the image of his eyes staring back at her that night outside the Hoover building, swimming with pain and heart-shattering disappointment. She'd hurt him more in those ten minutes than she'd ever hurt him in the rest of their partnership. That level couldn't only have been raised exponentially for how he'd feel should he find out.

A knock at her door made her practically jump out of her skin, and she spun around in her chair, hands gripping the arms of it so hard that her fingernails pierced the fabric slightly.

"Dr. Brennan," a voice called, and she let out a shaky breath before stumbling to her feet and hurrying to the door.

Cullen might not be the most welcome visitor, but he was from her past life. He was a face she knew, could associate with happier memories. For that reason alone, she was grateful of his presence.

His eyes raked over her face once she opened the door, taking in the scarring and the sightless eye.

"I would really like to reinstate the close-range Marshalls, you know," he said as he stepped in without an invitation. She pulled back to give him room to pass by, and then shut the door and locked it behind him.

"So you've mentioned in your emails," she said, "But that doesn't change my opinion on the matter. And, as you promised, mine is the only one that counts."

He sighed. "Sometimes I regret that."

"I'm safe here, Director," she said firmly. The Marshalls check in every month or so, but other than that I'm completely situated here, and I haven't had any trouble at all. But you already know that."

"That I do. Nonetheless, what with recent events I would still like to arrange for a patrol to be keeping a twenty-four-hour watch of this place."

"You didn't mention why you were here," she cut in, abruptly changing the topic. One fiery stare from her, and he seemed to acknowledge that his line of discussion was terminated permanently. At least as far as their meeting today was concerned.

"I'm here to discuss the investigation, Dr. Brennan."

"Brennan," she corrected firmly. She used to correct everyone about her title, never imagining a day when she would demand that someone _not_ use it. But ever since she'd been out of her field, she'd started to feel like it was undeserved. Out here, she was a web-designer from Washington state. Titles meant nothing anymore.

"Fine, then you're calling me Sam. This isn't formal. Not out here."

She nodded agreeably, and waited for him to explain the exact reasoning for his visit.

"I spoke with Booth on Saturday. He'd been considering leaving the Bureau... although, judging from the station you're watching, you probably already know that by now. I was updated on the press conference just as I was pulling in here. I know you didn't want him to participate in the investigation, but I didn't feel I had another choice. Regardless of your reasoning, Booth is an agent that I really can't afford to lose. Dr. Sweets thinks this will help him, and I trust his judgment on the matter."

"So you're letting him take over the case?" she asked in disbelief.

"Not quite. Weaver is still the lead agent. Booth is merely... being offered some leeway to access evidence that the team at the Jeffersonian didn't have before now. I'm hoping they'll be able to find something that my team missed."

"Of course they will," she responded on instinct. "My team is the best in the world."

"You realize what it will mean when this case is solved, don't you?"

"I wish to remain in my current situation," she said calmly.

"We both know it doesn't work that way. Booth is going to find who did this to you, and he's going to arrest them for it. Then there's going to be a trial, and whether you like it or not, you _will_ have to testify."

"Fine. Then I want you to remove Booth from the case."

Cullen scowled. "I can't do that, Doc—_Brennan_. I... understand that this will be difficult. What I've asked of you hasn't been easy this far, and it's not going to get any easier once this all comes to a head, but the fact remains that this situation isn't permanent. And to be goddamn honest, I'm glad it's not. Booth's not going to get any better if he doesn't have you around to _fix_ him."

She barely suppressed a scoff. "After I've been _dead_ for a year? Because of _you_, in case you've somehow forgotten? If Sweets knew the details, he'd tell you right out that telling him would only make matters worse."

"So now you're a psychologist as well?"

She glared at him in silence until he sighed and shook his head.

"This is going to be a challenge, but I always knew that. I've never quite understood why you changed your mind about wanting Booth to know that you were alive, and I've been so kind as to not enquire further into it. Because of this, I've decided something that... well, you might not approve of, but I think is completely necessary. You see, I have complete faith that Agent Booth and those scientists are going to figure out what happened, and hunt down those that are responsible. I've made up my mind to send Dr. Sweets here, to talk to you about facing that when it comes."

"You've told Sweets?" she managed to choke out after a long moment of just staring at him uncomprehendingly.

"Not yet, no. But you can expect him sometime tomorrow; probably later in the day. I'll tell him to bring Thai food; from what I understand, you used to be a regular at that place around the corner from the Hoover."

"I don't want to see him," she said, shaking her head furiously, "I don't want him to be _told_."

Cullen closed his eyes, "I'm sorry, Dr. Brennan. I really am. If... if there had been a better way to go about this situation, I really wish we would have found it then. But this is what we're stuck with now, and we've got to be ready. Dr. Sweets will be here tomorrow night."

**There, now we're getting someplace. I know you're all dying for the team to know, haha. **


	13. Cloudy Reflections

**A/N: You've all been so great; I love hearing from each and every one of you. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the last :)**

_Chapter 12- Cloudy Reflections_

_May 11__th__, 2011_

"Hello Michael," he said smoothly, sliding into the seat opposite of the other man.

The professor sighed. "Agent Booth. What have you been doing, following me?"

He shrugged. "It worked, apparently. I hope you weren't planning on meeting someone else here today."

Stires gave a disbelieving huff. "Right, and that would matter to you. Is there a _reason_ you wanted to talk to me? Obviously it's something to do with Tempe."

He ground his teeth together, wanting to punch the man for daring to think he had the right to use her nickname.

"It's about Brennan, yes." Her name was foreign on his tongue, in more ways than one. He refused to use his own name for her. Hadn't spoken it once since the day she'd left him. His use of any form of her name, though, had become increasingly rare as time had passed.

"Afraid I can't help you much, then." He lifted his beer to his lips and took a long draft.

"You're going to try, though," he said, leaving no room for argument. Stires eyed him warily, frowning, and then leaned back and threw up his hands.

"Fine. If you've actually got questions, ask them. It's not like it matters anymore. I lost my shot with her long before she got herself blown up."

His hand shot across the table before he could gain control of his actions, and grabbed a hold of the arrogant man's shirt collar.

"You don't get to talk about her like that. Got it?"

Stires nodded rapidly, and Booth released him, leaning back again. In his head, he could hear Angela telling him to watch it, and keep a clear head. He very much wanted to push the words out of his mind, but he knew enough to listen to them. At least for now.

"How did you first meet her?"

Stires smirked, but the expression quickly cleared away as he saw the menace that was aimed his way.

"She was in my class, but you already know that."

"Did she have any enemies?"

"Agent Booth, you must know by now that... Tempe was never very good at making friends." He knew it, yes, but it didn't mean he didn't want to beat up this man for saying it. "She was the top of her class... pretty much everyone hated her for it. I, on the other hand, was highly impressed. She kept me on my toes; corrected every mistake no matter how small, argued about theories and protocols, challenged me at every turn. I've never had another student like her."

"Can you remember anyone specific that might have held a grudge?"

"Antonio Evans and her got into a particular heated argument over proper reconstruction of a skull. She was right, of course, but he never could accept that. He made every attempt to tear her down after that."

"And he failed?"

"Academically, he couldn't best her. But when it came to matters outside the classroom... you'd be surprised how juvenile college students can be."

"What did he do?"

"It was rather cruel, but he dug into her past, and he spread it around campus that she was from the foster care system. I was already with her at that point, and I was just as surprised as everyone else. She never breathed a word of it to me. After that, though... she only seemed to want to work harder. Antonio was furious that he couldn't keep up with her, but he lost his scholarship that year, so I haven't seen him since, and as far as I know, Tempe didn't either."

"He might be worth looking into. Anything else? I heard her mention once that she went on a dig with a group of students while in college."

"Yes. That was a rather... unfortunate ordeal. But, to be honest, it was probably for the best. Anthropology, despite what many might think, isn't the safest of fields to go into. Especially if one involves themselves in foreign matters. We were identifying remains, and it became rather apparent that the armed men who were supervising were most likely responsible for the deaths we were investigating. We got back just fine, with no incidents, but she and the other students were rather shaken by the situation."

He nodded thoughtfully. It wasn't likely to have anything to do with the case, but it _was_ one of those gaps that had always been there in his mind, and now it was filled with an explanation. He'd rather have heard it from her—he still didn't trust Stires—but this was as good as he was probably going to get.

"And why exactly did you two break up?"

"You aren't serious," he scoffed.

"Oh, I can assure you that I'm dead serious. And if you don't tell me, I'll find out on my own."

The man glowered for a moment, and then relented. "I didn't kill her, Booth. So I don't know why you're wasting your time. But, regardless... Tempe and I weren't a perfect fit. We fought often, and she had a tendency to believe she was always right. Of course, she usually was, but after a while... things just got too tense between us. She took an internship at the Jeffersonian, and we mutually parted ways."

"Until, of course, you tried to sabotage her in court after pretending to be a decent person."

He leaned forward. "I have to ask, Booth; is this more about you finding the truth, or getting revenge against me for what happened all those years ago? I was doing my job, and you were doing yours. You can't blame me for... I don't know, hurting her feelings?"

"I have a problem with people that hurt others intentionally, when they _know_ how vulnerable they are. Tell you what, though, you don't leave town for a while, and you answer any more questions I have for you, and I won't go digging for some reason to arrest you. Sound fair?"

"I'm in town anyways, but no doubt you already knew that. We're done here."

"Actually, we are," Booth agreed, getting up and heading straight back out the door.

In the cool breeze outside, he closed his eyes and breathed in a steadying breath before slowly making his way to his SUV and climbing inside.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

His phone started ringing just as he was pulling into his spot at the Hoover, and he answered it with his typical "Booth."

He was expecting it to be Sweets, calling to ask where he was. He'd taken off this morning without the psychologist, determined to not be followed around _everywhere_ he went. Cullen might think he needed to be watched, but he just wanted the chance to do things _his_ way.

"Agent Booth, I need you in my office."

Just what he didn't want to hear.

"Yes, sir, I'll be right there."

He hung up and stared at the wall outside his windshield for a long moment, trying not to think about what was probably coming. Cullen hadn't sounded particularly happy... almost like he'd had a rough day to begin with. Booth wasn't looking forward to the lecture he was going to get for ditching the psychologist. Or worse, if Cullen had decided to take him off the case because of it.

So, it was with trepidation that he finally arrived at and knocked upon his boss's office door.

"Come in," Cullen's firm voice announced, and he sighed and glanced upwards for a brief moment before he stepped in. Weaver was already seated in one of two chairs that now occupied the space opposite Cullen's desk, and he was scowling. "Take a seat," his boss said, pointing to the only open spot.

Cautiously, he settled into the stiff-backed chair and glanced between Weaver and Cullen, wondering what this was about. He'd been expecting a one-on-one disciplinary discussion. Not a group meeting.

Suddenly, he was more concerned than ever that he might not get to keep this case.

And then what would he do?

"Agent Booth, it has come to my attention that you may not be fully in the loop with the investigation. Agent Weaver?"

The younger man ground his teeth for a moment, and didn't meet Booth's eyes when he began to speak.

"We've been following all credible leads, and for the most part we received nothing helpful. But... yesterday afternoon, a photographer came in and handed over this." He dropped a large photo on the desk, but before Booth could reach for it he continued, keeping his fingers pinning the corner of it down. He could make out the colors from his angle, but not what the picture was of. "She said that she was watching the memorial on television the other night, and she realized that she'd been in the area of Dr. Brennan's apartment building the day of the explosion."

"She just figured this out _now?"_ he interrupted incredulously.

"Apparently she doesn't watch much TV," Weaver said, rolling his eyes. "She was in DC visiting her aunt, which she does every May. Hence why she'd here right now. The point, though, is that she dug through her albums and she found this one. Taken about an hour before the blast."

Now he pushed it towards Booth, who was quick to pull it off the desk and hold it up in front of him.

The image was clearly meant to be of a tree in front of the building, but in the corner he could see the doorway, and in it, the doorman... talking to someone in a black sweatshirt.

"I'm going to assume this guy was never mentioned by the doorman," he said, raising his eyes to Weaver.

"Precisely. We've been trying to locate the doorman ever since we got a hold of this, but no luck so far."

"He was a part of the investigation; why don't you have all his information?"

"It's being looked into," Cullen interjected, and both sets of eyes went to him. "In the meantime, since Agent Weaver here has been unsuccessful, I'd like you to bring this photo to your expert at the Jeffersonian. I'm sure Ms... or Mrs., or whatever the hell she wants to be called... Montenegro, will be able to find something in it that we couldn't."

Weaver looked like he wanted to protest, but at the glare Cullen sent his way, his mouth snapped back shut and he stared sullenly at the floor instead.

"I'll bring it right over to the lab, sir."

"As you should. Both of you can go now. Oh, and if you happen to see Dr. Sweets, I would appreciate if someone would send him in to see me."

Feeling lighter than he had that morning, Booth smirked at Weaver as they exited the office, and received a furious glower in return.

"I don't care if she was your partner, or your girlfriend, or _what_," he snapped once they were out of earshot of their boss. "This is my case, do you understand? I don't want you pushing me out of it because you think you can get away with anything just by threatening to quit whenever things don't go your way."

It took a lot of strength to keep him from slamming the guy's head into the wall, but he couldn't hide the ticking in his jaw, or the way his eyebrows drew together as he pulled to a halt and they both faced each other in the narrow hallway that led back to the main offices.

"You lost your right to this case a long time ago, Weaver. If you still want to save face in front of the bosses and the press, you'll shut up and let me solve this. _I'm_ not in this for the glory. I'm in this for justice. Something you _really_ can't seem to get through your thick head."

"Oh, shut up. Everyone at the office knows you were screwing her. All _you_ want is revenge on whoever it was that blew her up!"

And that was where his control snapped.

Before he knew what was happening, he found himself holding Weaver in a headlock, pushing the other man's face into the wall.

"Don't you _dare_ desecrate my partner's name," he spat. _"Or_ challenge my motivation. I've been quiet for far too long about the way this investigation _should_ have been handled. That's because I trusted _Cullen's_ judgment. Not yours."

The agent struggled in his grasp, and he finally released him, settling for a fierce glare as the other man stepped away and straightened his tie, his breath coming in huffs.

"Go back to your scientists, where you belong," Weaver managed, and then rapidly strode around the corner and out of sight.

Fixing his own tie quickly, Booth followed and made his way straight across to the elevator, which he was thankfully able to ride solo all the way down.

He had always been aware that people read more into his relationship with her than what actually existed. Hell, complete strangers used to ask them how long they'd been going out, and they'd had to awkwardly explain, usually with both of them talking over the other, that they were not, in fact, dating.

So, he'd known that most of the office used to talk about them. The talk had disappeared with her, but occasionally it did resurface. And, clearly, Weaver hadn't forgotten in the slightest.

It would be foolish to claim he didn't feel that familiar twist of his heart whenever anyone brought it up. He'd been in love with her for years. Would have done anything to make her happy. Which was why he so vividly recalled the night that she'd turned him down. Pushed him away. Cried while leaning against that wall, staring back at him.

To this day, he wondered what he'd done wrong. Had he come at her too quickly and scared her away? Had he not done enough to convince her into the idea? Had he failed somewhere else along the line that he'd never noticed? There had to have been a reason why she didn't want what he wanted. Because she cared about him. He could see that... the rest of the world could see that...

But somewhere, something had gone wrong.

And because of that, he hadn't been with her.

Because of that, she'd died alone.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"I'm surprised you didn't beat anybody up," Cam commented as she moved to stand on Angela's other side in front of the screen. Angela tapped at her little pad, and a rectangle formed around the corner of the enlarged picture on the screen before the whole thing zoomed in to show just the grainy image of the doorman and the unnamed person he was speaking with.

"I figured as long as we got the picture, there was no need to beat anyone up over not getting it sooner," he answered, keeping his eyes firmly on the screen as the pixels began to alter. Ange was frowning in concentration as she moved over to her keyboard and began tapping keys.

It wasn't a lie, per se. His reasoning for the minor altercation in the hallway hadn't been about the evidence, after all. Cam seemed to sense that something was off with his response, from the way he could feel her stare piercing into him, but he refused to turn and make contact.

Eventually, she made a little 'hum' sounded from the back of her throat, and turned her attention to the artist.

"Are you going to be able to enhance this enough for us to get some sort of... recognition?"

"Well, the problem here is that our suspect is facing the wrong way," Ange said with a sigh, pointing out the obvious. "Right now I'm enhancing the overall image..." she trailed off and tapped a few more keys, until the screen had narrowed down to show just the heads of the men. Gradually, the image began to clear. "This photographer used a very expensive camera, so that's helping. The resolution was high quality to start with."

They all watched as distinctive features began to form.

"Alright," Ange said as her program gave a cheerful little chirp. "That should do it. Now, we can see the doorman's face clearly..." she isolated it and the screen split, enlarging the one face on the right side and shrinking the rest of the full image to the other half. She enhanced it a bit more, and then nodded to herself.

"I'm going to put this through facial recognition, just in case. Now..."

The doorman disappeared and the rest of the image took back the full space.

"If we're lucky..." she closed in on the space next to the doorman's face, and several lines ran back and forth over the screen. "...There'll be a reflection that I can pull from the door..."

"So where exactly is Hodgins?" Cam asked, turning to Angela while they waited for the program to finish analyzing.

Ange breathed out a sigh through her nose. "He's with Wendell and Nigel-Murray. They're setting up some sort of controlled explosion to figure out how the bomb was built."

"What?" Cam asked, eyebrows reaching up towards her hairline.

"You know, now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to tell you about that."

Cam vanished in a flash, leaving Booth alone with the artist, who shook her head sadly.

"She really shouldn't worry about it. They aren't having fun, that's for sure. And bad things only happen when they're enjoying themselves too much. This... well, this is all about finding out the truth."

Booth nodded in agreement, and they both watched as the screen suddenly cleared and the cloudy reflection came into view. He was reminded of that day when he and Brennan had been trying to find out what had happened to Shawn Cook. That had been... what? Their third or fourth case?

Angela was busily tapping away again, and a moment later the image had been enlarged and flipped.

"And there we have it," she said softly.

"I don't recognize him," Booth said with a shake of his head. A small, very selfish, portion of his brain was relieved. With all the guilt he already had weighing him down, at least he could maybe start to consider the idea that her death hadn't entirely been his fault.

"I'm going to start running a facial recognition program," she said, pulling up another program alongside the image. "We'll start with the criminal databases... hopefully our guy will be listed."

"Yeah. Great work, Ange. Thanks."

"I'm just glad I can finally do something to help."

Raised voices from outside Angela's office caught both of their attentions, and they simultaneously hurried out the door and into the open lab, spotting a small gathering of people beside the lab doors and moving towards them.

And that's when they heard a single word that made Angela dash forward.

"Zach!"

**I know, I know. You all want to see Sweets. But that's still a little ways away. There are some advances in the case that need to be made BEFORE Sweets sees Brennan. Leave a review, if you please, and let me know your thoughts? **


	14. Broken Moments

**A/N: Ew. I hope this new account page format is NOT permanent. It's making me cringe just looking at it, and the sidebar makes me feel like I'm falling over sideways, or at the very least that my screen is missing a large chunk to the right. I want my full-screen view back, thank you very much. What was wrong with tabs across the top, huh?**

***sigh* Anyways, this is a short chapter, so my apologies.  
**

_Chapter 13- Broken Moments_

_May 11__th__, 2011_

The scan was still going... flashing lights fluttering over her eyelashes as she let them slowly close again, half-drifting towards sleep that was still refusing to fully envelope her.

It was late. She wasn't sure exactly what time, but it was definitely well past dark. Despite the hour, though, she wasn't alone in the lab this time.

Sweets had arrived with Zach, just as Cullen had told her would be the requirement, and the shrink had stayed with the team since then, getting caught up on the details of the investigation. He had come to check out the photograph, and her enhancement of the reflection, looking disappointed that the face wasn't familiar to him any more than it had been to her, Booth, or the others.

As of yet, there was no news from the FBI about Theodore Howard, the supposed doorman. Seeing as his face had yet to turn up any matches, just like their unnamed suspect, she was starting to doubt they ever would. If he'd been involved, he'd be long gone by now, with a new name. Maybe even a new face.

She didn't want to contemplate what that might mean for their case.

For now, though, the only thing she could do was wait for the scan to turn up a result... for either of them.

Zach was with Hodgins and the two anthropologists, and as far as she knew, Cam had left a while ago. Michelle was visiting from college, and she wanted to spend time with her adoptive daughter. None of them could begrudge her that, and if anything, when she'd announced that she'd be leaving earlier tonight, Booth had looked somewhat guilty.

She couldn't help but think _'good.'_ It was about time he started showing more interest in his son. She could still clearly recall the way Parker had talked about his dad that night when she'd last seen him... and how forlorn he'd been about his dad's depression.

That kid needed his father, now more than ever. She only hoped that eventually he'd get him back, because that boy deserved to have Booth in his life... the _real_ Booth, who none of them had seen in over a year now.

She had been hoping that Hodgins would come in soon to suggest they head home, but he had yet to make an appearance. Before she knew it, she'd actually managed to drift off.

_"Knock it off!" she shouted, swatting away Jack's roaming hand. "You said we were going out tonight."_

_ "Well... we could always order in..." he murmured suggestively, leaning forward to capture her lips. She let hers move with his for a while, but then pulled back and leaned her forehead against his, smiling in helpless amusement._

_ "I was promised fancy dining, and I'm not going to back down."_

_ "Alright, alright. God, you'll be the death of me, woman."_

_ "Watch the way you talk to your _wife_," she teased, whacking him lightly with the pillow from her end of the couch. Her hand dug down into the cushions until she found the remote, and she flipped off the movie that they hadn't been watching anyways._

_ "Hey, it's only been a week. Give me chance to adapt."_

_ She snorted as she got to her feet. "You've had plenty of time over the past five years of being around me. Now get up and go find some suitable clothing. I've already got my dress picked out."_

_ "Fine, fine..." he said, shaking his head and chuckling slightly as he made a show of struggling to his feet and stretching before slowly making his way to their bedroom. She was going to follow him, but she noticed that he'd left his glass on the table without a coaster again, and she sighed to herself as she picked it up and wiped away the slight ring of water it left behind. _

_ The ringing phone distracted her from her task, and she dropped the glass on top of a magazine on the end table and snatched it out of it's holder._

_ "Hello?"_

_ "Angela." The voice on the other end said heavily. It took her a moment, but she placed the voice._

_ "Caroline?"_

_ "I'm afraid I've... got some rather bad news, Cherie."_

_ She could feel the blood draining out of her face. "What happened?"_

_ "There's been an explosion... at Dr. Brennan's building."_

_ Her mouth formed the words 'Oh God' but no sound escaped. She fell heavily onto the couch._

_ "Angie, who's on the phone?" Jack's voice called from the other room._

_ "Is she... is she..?" she finally managed to ask, her voice choked. _

_ "They've brought her to the hospital, but it ain't lookin' good. Get yourself and that bug man down here pronto."_

_ "We'll... we'll be over right away. I just... I can't even..."_

_ "We're all prayin', Cherie. Booth's already here, and he is _not_ coping well."_

_ "Does everyone else... have you told the rest of the team?" she asked helplessly, fumbling with the coat hook and trying to get her hands into the arms without losing her grip on the phone. She'd barely even noticed the fact that she'd managed to cross the house in only seconds._

_ "Angie?" Jack called, his voice, laced with worry, coming from the living room._

_ "You were first on the list. I... well, let's just say I knew that you should know first. Now scoot!"_

_ She hung up before Angela could, and she stared blankly at the opposite wall before she tossed the phone aside, not caring where it landed as she finished her battle with the coat and started scrambling for the keys._

_ That was when Jack rounded the corner and found her, her face streaked with tears that she hadn't even realized were pouring from her eyes._

_ "Ange!" he cried in shock, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. "Ange, what's wrong? Who called?"_

_ "Bren's in the hospital," she managed to whisper. _

_ "I'll drive," he said at once, and tugged the keys from her grasp before leading the way out the door._

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

_ Waiting was always the worst part. It might be clichéd, but then, wasn't that the way truth generally was? _

_Booth was pacing. He hadn't stopped since she'd wrapped him in a hug and told him that everything was going to be alright. Hodgins had clapped him on the shoulder and repeated her reassurances, but their words had fallen on deaf ears, because he continued to stare at the doors before returning to his pacing, running his hand agitatedly up and down the back of his neck and through his hair._

_ Caroline was looking particularly sullen, and she'd barely spoken a word except to every now and then attempt to get Booth to either sit down or accept the coffee that she'd gotten for him. He ignored her, though, and didn't change from the routine until they were joined by Cam, who was quickly followed through the door by Sweets._

_ After the initial standing and hugging filled with murmurs of concerns and reassurances, though, they all settled into chairs, besides Booth, and kept to themselves._

_ Jack had her hand clasped tightly in his, and she was leaned into his shoulder, seeking any comfort she could find._

_ It was three long and painful hours later that the surgeon finally came through the doors and approached them. She sat up, and Hodgins blinked his eyes open, instantly awake as they all stood. Sweets had been sleeping too, fitfully and uncomfortably, but he was just as awake as the rest when the surgeon stopped in front of them._

_ "Are you the family and friends of Temperance Brennan?" the woman, a blonde wearing scrubs with glasses tucked in the front pocket, asked. They all nodded at once, no one bothering to correct her with 'Dr.' There were more important things at the moment. Angela could feel her own fear just as tangibly as she could feel the terror that surrounded her. "I'm so sorry, but Ms. Brennan didn't make it through surgery," the woman said, meeting each of their eyes for a brief second._

_ It took a moment. A long, broken moment in time, before the words actually arranged themselves logically in her head. And it was at that moment that she began to shake, and her head began to rock back and forth in a continuous 'no' motion. Jack's hand gripping her shoulder, and the warmth of his arm wrapped around her, did little to keep her grounded._

_ "No," a voice said. The word wasn't desperate. Wasn't horrified. It was simply... a refusal to accept what this woman had just said._

_ "I'm sorry," the surgeon repeated emphatically, "Ms. Brennan suffered severe trauma in the explosion and the resulting fire... we were unable to prevent her internal bleeding."_

"Angela?"

She jolted awake, crying out slightly and staring around with bleary eyes before she realized that this wasn't a hospital waiting room, but her own office.

Sweets was standing in the doorway, looking concerned.

"Are you alright?"

"I... yes, yes I'm fine," she stammered, not sounding fine at all. She rubbed her eyes to clear them, and then tapped her mouse until the computer screen flashed on. The clock in the corner of the screen read 10:04. "I was just... I fell asleep at my desk."

"I see," Sweets said, sounding like he wanted to go further. But he dropped it and instead told her, "Hodgins is looking for you. Everyone's getting ready to leave for the night."

"Right. I'll... tell him I'll be right out. I've just got to check a few things."

"Alright, I'll tell him. You're... sure that you're okay? It makes perfect sense that you'd be having trouble sleeping recently."

She flushed red. "I'm fine."

He nodded thoughtfully, and then murmured, "Y'know, that's what she would have said," before he turned and walked out, leaving her to contemplate his words in the ensuing silence.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Jack was waiting for her by the doors, looking as though Sweets had gone ahead and expressed his concerns to him. The worried look on his face was almost an exact copy of the one that she'd seen on the young psychologist's.

"You ready to go?" he asked. _Are you okay?_ was the real question, though, and she knew it.

"I'm fine. I just dozed off in my office waiting for the scan to finish."

"So it's still going, then, I'm assuming?" he asked as they walked through the doors.

"Yeah. I'm hoping that it will be finished by the time we get in tomorrow, but don't count on it. There are thousands of possibilities, and while I've narrowed down the criteria as much as I could, it's still going to be a long process of elimination."

"I figured."

"So... how was it, working with Zach again?" she queried, switching the topic to draw it away from herself.

"It was... really weird, actually. But... nice. Y'know? It's been a long time... I've really missed the guy. And he had some great theories. We've narrowed down what ingredients were probably used to make the bomb, but we keep getting weird results when we try to blast through the wall."

"How so?"

"Well, we've figured out what must have been used from the residue that was left behind and the way that the debris were distributed. But the thickness of the wall keeps making our tests less powerful than the actual explosion in the apartment building."

"So Cam let you actually go through with the testing?" she asked in surprise, momentarily distracted.

"Yeah. We had a controlled environment set up, and Zach knew what he was doing. She supervised until she left to go home to Michelle, but she actually seemed pretty impressed with our progress. And we didn't set anything on fire that we didn't mean to. Protocol followed to a T and all that jazz that she has to have."

"So... the wall?" she questioned, dragging him back to the subject at hand.

"Yeah. We think that there's a chance the bomb was embedded in the wall... like the person that did it actually carved into the wall and put the bomb right next to the drywall on her end."

"Why would that be weird, then? I mean... it does make sense. In a horrible, sick way."

"Yeah, sure, it makes _sense_. But what doesn't really fit is the timeline. The apartment was only broken into once, the day before the blast. And, according to the woman downstairs that was home with her sick kid all day, she didn't hear any power tools in that apartment."

"So the damage was done by hand, then."

"See, that's where I have my other problem. It would have taken a while to dig a sizeable hole, not to mention to plant the bomb and then hide the evidence so that the old guy living there wouldn't notice."

"But that doesn't explain why he had to come back the next day," Ange said, suddenly catching on.

"Precisely. If he'd planted the bomb the day before, he'd have either set it off then, or he'd have rigged it to explode. There wouldn't have been a need to return to the scene. Not to mention that it would have been dangerous to show himself twice."

"So you think he was disorganized."

"That's the theory right now. Sweets seems to agree with it."

"I'm still thinking that the man in the sweatshirt is our bomber. Has Zach had any luck with figuring out what caused the security system to fail?"

"He said he was going to look over the notes on it tonight. He'll probably figure it out while he's eating breakfast."

"Or brushing his teeth," Angela pointed out, managing a soft laugh.

"Man, I've missed having that guy around the lab. It's almost like the old days, working with him, you know? Except... well..."

"I know what you mean," she assured him. "It's nice to get a little bit of it back."

"But enough of Zach," Hodgins said as they reached their car and climbed in. "Something's bothering you."

She sighed. "I assume Sweets told you that?" he didn't respond, and she took that as a yes. "It's nothing, really. I just... I've been thinking about Bren a lot lately. And... I've been having trouble sleeping without... remembering. I just... every time I hear the phone ring, I get this _horrible_ feeling, and I remember that day..."

"Hey, you aren't alone. I don't think... I don't think _any_ of us will ever forget that day." A slight shiver ran through him, and he shook his head, staring into space like he was picturing it himself before he turned his gaze back to her. "It changed everything... it's still changing things. But... when we solve this, we'll get to put her at peace finally. And I really believe that will help."

"I hope so," she murmured. "It's just... Booth's never going to be the same. And I have no idea what to do to make it any better. You can't really believe that finding out the truth is going to cure what he has. The only thing that could do that would be a time machine, and I know you aren't any closer to one."

"Maybe with Zach's help..." he suggested, but the teasing light faded quickly from his eyes. "You're right, though, of course. We'll just have to... you know, wait and see."

She sighed again, closing her eyes and letting her head fall back against the headrest. "It feels like that's all we've been doing."

"I know... but what other option do we have?"

**Feedback? And if anyone knows if this sidebar thing is a glitch or something... please let me know. Can you all see it to when you sign in, or is it just me?**


	15. Starry Dreams

**A/N: One more chapter of catch-up before we go to Sweets! May 12 is the day it is currently, not the day of the flashback that we begin with. This chapter involves some of the dark themes I mentioned at the beginning, specifically surrounding abuse Brennan dealt with in foster care. Please be aware before you read, in case stories of this nature upset you in any way. Thank you. **

_Chapter 14- Starry Dreams_

_May 12__th__, 2011_

_"See, aren't you glad you came to lunch with me?" he said, punching her lightly in the shoulder. "And you said you didn't want to!"_

_ "Despite not having a case, I do still have a job to do at the Jeffersonian," she pointed out. "And I like to do it as well as I can. If you keep interrupting while we aren't working together on an FBI matter, it makes it... challenging."_

_ Normally, he'd have cheekily asked if that meant he was the distraction, but the words wouldn't come. Things had changed, and he was starting to get used to it enough to pull back things that were only going to make the situation more awkward._

_ She'd said no to his offer, and he'd said he was going to move on. _

_ There was no way either of them could ignore that. _

_ "So, what are you doing tonight that's so important you couldn't do paperwork with me?"_

_ To be honest, he wasn't really doing anything. It was just that they'd only done paperwork together once since that disaster of an evening outside the Hoover, and he really didn't want a repeat of the silence he'd suffered through last time, interrupted with only brief attempts at conversation. And that had been in her office... he could only imagine the outcome if he'd accepted her offer to come over with Thai food tonight. _

_ He might have had some hope that her asking meant she might actually care the way he'd always hoped she did, but he knew well enough not to let himself get too expectant. What she was doing was her way of trying to mend their working relationship by returning it to the way it had been. It wasn't going to happen, though, no matter how much either of them tried for it. _

"_I've just got some stuff going on. I'm probably going to be at the office until late, anyways." _

_ He didn't miss the look of disappointment that flashed across her face, but she masked over it quick enough that anyone else would probably have thought they'd imagined it. It hurt him to turn her down, but she had to understand that he wasn't waiting anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. He'd learned his lesson, and if she really did change her mind... well, she would tell him outright like she always did._

_ "Are you coming back over to the lab?" she asked, sounding hopeful enough that he knew he couldn't deny her._

_ "Sure. You can show me the four-hundred year old warrior or whatever it is that you're working on right now."_

_ Her door slammed shut as she climbed into the passenger seat, and he hopped into the vehicle close behind her, revving the engine. _

_ "It's a soldier from World War II, Booth. Hardly four-hundred years old."_

_ "Well shouldn't it be fairly obvious how he died? I mean... it was a war."_

_ She was already shaking her head as he pulled out into traffic. "Not in this case. The bullets recovered from within the body suggest friendly fire. Besides, I'd be identifying him regardless. He deserves to have a proper burial with his name on a headstone."_

_ "Of course, Bones. I was just... positing a scenario."_

_ She scowled. "Without knowing any of the facts. You know I hate it when you do that."_

_ "Yeah, I know you do," he agreed with a grin. She reluctantly allowed an amused smile to cross her lips, followed by a quick chuckle._

_ Lunch had been a good idea, despite his original fears over how it would turn out. The Diner wasn't as personal as one of their apartments, for one, and the casual atmosphere let them talk about work without straying much into their personal lives. At the moment, that was a comfort zone he was happy to stick to the middle of._

_ The ride was mostly silent, but it wasn't as awkward or forced as it had been in the first week following his offer. _

_ He followed her into the lab when they arrived, and he tried not to notice the way her slacks hugged her curves, or the way her heels only lengthened her already endless legs. These were things he did not have a right to appreciate. Not when she'd made her choice clear. Of course, the good Catholic boy that he was, he should never have been paying attention in the first place... but a few more Hail Mary's were a reasonable price to pay for appreciating his gorgeous partner. Besides, he was only human._

_ "Are you coming?" she called over her shoulder, and he hurried to catch up._

_ "Well, he's your typical dead guy," he commented once they were on the platform. She rolled her eyes, snapping on her gloves and picking up the skull._

_ "Hey, G-man," Ange greeted him cheerfully, bouncing her way up on to the platform. "What brings you here on this fine day?"_

_ "An attempt to procrastinate my office duties," he said with a grin. _

_ She laughed. "Very smooth. I have that reconstruction for you... the one you asked for my help on?"_

_ "Right," he said with a nod. Another team had been given the latest case, and they'd hit a dead end on the identify and begrudgingly requested that Angela take a look into it._

_ Once in her office, though, it seemed that she had other plans. _

_ "Where were you this morning, Booth?" she demanded the moment the door was shut behind them._

_ "Whoa- what?"_

_ "This morning. Bren was over at the Hoover building, and she dropped by your office. You weren't there. She tried to pass it off as nothing, but the fact that she _told_ me is enough for me to know that it was _not_ nothing. Not to her."_

_ He sighed. "I came in late today, alright?"_

_ "Why?" She asked, though it was more a demand than a question._

_ "Because I had one to many at a bar last night. Happy?"_

_ "Not at all. Come on, Booth," she sighed, "Something's not right between the two of you. She won't talk about it... you won't talk about it... to be honest, I'm worried."_

_ "I've just had a lot on my mind lately, okay? And what was Brennan even doing at the Bureau this morning, anyways?"_

_ "She wanted to ask Sweets something, I think."_

_ He frowned. That wasn't like her at all._

_ "Well, I appreciate your concern, but there's nothing to talk about."_

_ She stared him down for a long moment, and then shook her head and turned to pull her sketch from a drawer and pass it over to him. "I hope this helps," she said seriously._

_ He took in the image of the young woman on the paper, and nodded. "I'm sure it will. I'll pass it off when I get back to the office. Thanks, Ange."_

_ "No problem," she said dryly. She followed him back out into the lab, staring sadly after him as he rejoined his partner on the platform._

_ "Hey, I should probably get back to the office."_

_ "Oh," she said, disappointment ringing in her tone. For a moment, he almost reconsidered, but then she continued, "I wouldn't want to keep you from your work. I'll... see you tomorrow, right?"_

_ "Of course, Bones." _

_ He waved back to her, smiling sadly to himself when she raised her hand in equal farewell, and then he spend the rest of the evening trying not to think about her. _

_ Right up until his phone rang._

He jolted upright in surprise, staring around his office and trying to get his bearings. It took him a moment to realize he must have fallen asleep at his desk, and another to realize that the ringing of his phone had been what woke him up.

"Booth," he answered, trying to make his voice sound normal despite his currently bleary condition. How long had he been out for? What _time_ was it?

"Agent Booth, this is Wanda. The files you requested just came in. They're waiting for you."

_What files? _"I'll be right down to pick them up. Thanks."

It was on the elevator ride down that he finally remembered. A few days ago, he'd put in the request for her foster care files, as well as making a request to locate her social worker so he could question her himself.

No word on that second one yet.

The files were thick, and Wanda was sympathetic as she handed them over to him and he found it difficult to keep a firm grip on the heavy stack.

His fears had tripled by the time he was settled back at his desk.

The earliest files announced how she had entered the system; there was a note to see the file on her missing parents, which he didn't need to do anymore, as well as a catalogue of her original condition. Apparently she'd been interviewed by a psychologist before being placed in the group home that she'd first landed in.

All his notes labeled her as isolated, unfriendly, and unwilling to cooperate. Several times he saw labels of things like 'possible Asperger syndrome,' or 'suffering from mental trauma.' He was suddenly hugely grateful that he'd always been on her side against Sweets' attempts to dig into their lives. Of course she had hated shrinks... who wouldn't have, after they'd been through what she had?

The psychologist's notes, though, were a mere frustration compared to the rest of the files. He'd felt bad about digging into her private life before, but now he was determined to learn what he could and get whatever revenge for her he could. For both her death and what she'd suffered through during her life.

The photographs, as he'd expected, were the hardest. There she was, sixteen years old in one of them... a bloody lip and a black eye marring her pretty young face, and cuts across her wrists.

_Oh God, what did they do to you, Temperance? _He thought helplessly as he flipped through more and more.

There were countless reports accompanying the images... all of them followed by the same things. Explanations. Corroborations. Witness statements. Claims of how 'disturbed' she was... that she had made up everything.

Lies.

All of it.

It was when he found the first accusatory report of rape that he almost snapped. He wrote down the name of the foster father with so much force that he almost broke the pen in half. This man would die. It didn't matter where he was, who he was, what he'd done with his life since then. He was going to die for what he'd done.

There were a few cassette tapes with recordings of her statements on them... and that was where he drew his masochistic line. No matter how much he'd promised himself he would go through this every step of the way until she was avenged, he would not stoop to hearing her recount what she had faced.

The images already burned into his brain were bad enough.

As he'd expected after Angela's words the other day, the last foster home was the worst one to dig through, as well as the thickest file.

She'd filed at least a dozen reports... and they had been pretty much ignored because she'd already been labeled as a liar.

It was really no wonder she never talked about her years in the system, he realized painfully. She had trusted him, he knew that. But... to be able to talk about this with _anyone_ took a kind of strength that she must have had a hard time working up. He was grateful she'd even shared the few details that she had.

The Carltons—Amy and Joseph, their names were—had been housing three foster children. Two of them were young boys who's names were not revealed in the file, and the third one was Brennan. She'd been placed in the home when she was seventeen and a half years old... meaning she had spent six months with them.

The thought of it terrified him.

With shaking hands, he removed the first report she'd filed, claiming that she had been beaten unconscious during her first week in the home. _Unsubstantiated_, the attached note proclaimed. _No injuries recorded. _

A second report, this one asking to be removed from the home following a sexual assault. _Unsubstantiated_, written in the same concise cursive. _Known for maintaining unhealthy relationships despite warnings from guardians._

A third, this one with accompanying images of bruises around her neck and wrists. Her eyes were hollow with helplessness. _No evidence proving guilt of guardians in the matter._

They went on and on... each one explaining away the injuries as either self-inflicted, or caused by these so-called 'abusive boyfriends' that no one ever met. She never gave up, though... filing report after report despite the uselessness of them.

The last item in the file was a scrap of yellowing paper, covered with scratchy writing that vaguely resembled the way he remembered her handwriting had been. He removed it delicately, holding it up to read.

_I just want to be heard, _it said. In his head, her voice was soft... broken but yet still trying to be strong. _Maybe someday someone will read this, and they'll know what I meant. Maybe someday, this won't happen to anyone else. That's what I look up at the stars and dream about._

"She wrote that to me the day she left for the university," a voice said from the doorway. He looked up, too shocked to notice the tears tracking their way down his face. "My name is Evelyn Hartman," she said softly, stepping into his office. "Sorry if I... startled you."

"You were her social worker?" he asked, taking in the image of the elderly woman. She didn't look like she could hurt a fly, and she had deep blue eyes that contrasted her curly gray hair.

She nodded sadly. "There isn't a day that goes by that I don't regret what happened to her."

"You mean the bombing?" he asked, his eyed narrowed.

"No... no, in the system," she said with a breathy sigh, slowly lowering herself into the chair opposite of his desk. "Back then... back then, things weren't done properly."

He tossed the file in front of her, spreading out the twelve reports. She raised her eyes to the heavens and murmured a prayer.

"I didn't see the truth until many years later, when it was far too late... I couldn't do anything to fix what I had done, so I came here, to honor her memory, and ask for... forgiveness."

His anger was by no means erased, but he just couldn't get himself to blame this old woman for what she'd failed to do all those years ago. He wasn't going to stop blaming the system, though.

"She donated, you know," he said quietly. "She donated every year to organizations that help foster kids. She never talked about it, never told anyone she was doing it... but I found out. And she started a few funds herself, anonymously. A lot of her money went to the cause after she was killed, did you know that?"

The woman shook her bowed head.

"She didn't deserve what you put her through," he added softly.

"I know that," the woman whispered back, a tear tracking down her wrinkled cheek. "And I take responsibility for not... for not protecting her. I didn't investigate thoroughly enough... I just took the first answers that I was given and... accepted them as the truth. The system... it was filled with drug-dealers and gang kids... I just... I never _tried_ to consider that things weren't that way for Temperance."

"Even after all the reports she filed?" he said, unable to keep the incredulous tone out of his voice.

"I'll blame myself forever, now that I know that... that she never lied about anything that happened to her. And it... really did make sense, why she went back after she was out of the system. The Carltons... they wanted her arrested, for breaking into their house..."

"She went back?" he asked in disbelief.

Evelyn sighed sadly. "It never made sense to me, at the time... but I think she was trying to protect the two younger boys that were in the house. In the end, the family agreed that if she took the scholarship she'd received and left them alone for good, they wouldn't press charges. That scholarship was her only way out... she took it."

He didn't want to think about what that choice must have done to her, but he could imagine how it must have torn her apart to choose her own future over preventing what had happened to her from happening to others.

"What happened to the Carltons?"

"They were eventually arrested for solicitation of a minor... after the boys aged out of the system, they took in a fifteen year old girl, and... well, I think it's self-explanatory."

He sighed. "Yeah, it is. Do you have any other information you might be able to share with me?"

"Not that I can think of," she answered. "If you have any questions, though, here's my number." With a frail and shaking hand, she passed him a piece of paper with a number written on it. "That's the hotel I'm staying at... I'll be in DC for another week."

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Hartman."

"It's the least I could do... the very least."

He nodded. Yeah, it was the least she could do after the hell she'd let Brennan go through in foster care. But at least she was trying... it might not count for much, but it did count for something.

His phone started ringing again while he was attempting to sort out the files that covered his desk.

"Booth, we've got an ID," Angela's voice announced.

"On which one?"

"The man who was talking to her doorman."

"Who is he?"

"Chance Hurst. I'm working on digging up more... but so far we know that he worked at a morgue."

"Perfect," Booth muttered.

**Feedback, please? You all have been so amazing, and I thank you so much for everything you have had to say so far. I get ridiculously excited when I see fresh emails loading onto my screen. **


	16. Resonating Answers

**A/N: Well it's about time, right? Sweets has finally come back into the story. I hope you will enjoy the results :)**

_Chapter 15- Resonating Answers_

_May 12__th__, 2011_

The pavement was spinning fast beneath the tires of the black SUV with it's tinted windows. Outside, the world was weirdly bright despite the late hour, and the sky was coated with white clouds that only amplified the sun's rays.

His knee was still bouncing nervously, a habit that he'd never quite been able to get over. A nervous tick, one might call it.

If there was ever a time to be nervous, though, this was it. Everything else seemed to pale in comparison.

They were somewhere in West Virginia. He had no idea where, and nor did he dare ask. He doubted that the two black suited men in the front of the vehicle, with dark shades hiding their eyes, would have answered him anyways.

All he knew was that reality had dropped out from under him, and nothing made sense anymore.

_"Is there something you wanted to see me for, sir?"_

_ "Yes, come in, Dr. Sweets."_

_ He could only imagine that Cullen would want to see him to discuss how Booth was handling the case, so he was rather startled when the man instead brought up Brennan directly._

_ "I'm sure you remember May 6__th__ of last year very well, when you were informed of Dr. Brennan's death at the hospital?"_

_ "I... yeah," he stammered slightly, frowning in confusion._

_ "Today, I'm going to tell you something. I would appreciate if you would hear me out, and try to understand my reasoning. In addition, as with any classified matter, you must divulge what I tell you to _no one_. That includes Agent Booth and Ms. Montenegro."_

_ "Of course, sir. But, what-?"_

_ "I'm getting there. Dr. Sweets, you were lied to."_

_ He blinked a few times, waiting for Cullen to continue, but he didn't. "About what, sir?" he finally managed, trying to comprehend just what was going on here._

_ Without a word, Cullen passed a file across to him, which he hadn't even noticed had been sitting on the desk. He leaned forward and flipped it open, staring at the reports that filled it and turning the pages rapidly as he tried to make sense of it. It wasn't until he reached a picture in the back of the file that he froze in shock._

_ It was Brennan. Auburn hair back in a ponytail, face set in a blank stare. The only problem was that the right side of the image showed her face torn with deep cuts, one of them going up to slice across where her blue eye would have been... which was now a cloudy, sightless orb. _

_ And that was when it hit._

_ "She's alive?" he choked in shock, raising wide eyes to stare at Cullen in disbelief._

_ "Yes," the older man said heavily. "She's alive, and safe. And I want you to ride with the Marshalls to go see her."_

_ "All due respect, sir... but I just... what happened? Why did..?"_

_ "I knew you would ask that. The file says it all, but I'll condense it for you. Whoever it was that tried to kill her... they're still out there. For her safety, she was placed in Witness Protection."_

_ "But why didn't any of us _know?" _he demanded incredulously. _

_ Cullen sighed tiredly, clearly having anticipated the question but not enjoying being proven correct. "Because of the nature of the case, as well as the profile that _you_ provided. I had every reason to believe that our culprit would be watching the reactions of those closest to Dr. Brennan following her death. I couldn't risk her being hunted down if someone figured out she was alive."_

_ "So... why tell me now?"_

_ "Because I believe Booth is going to crack this case, and she's going to have to return to normal life following the arrest, as well as testify against her attacker at the trial."_

_ "And you want me to... what? Be her psychologist?"_

_ "More than that. Dr. Brennan has been isolated from society and from her friends. While she refuses to let me tell anyone else, I was adamant that you were going to see her tonight. And you're bringing Thai food," he tacked on as an afterthought. _

_ Sweets opened his mouth, and then shut it again, grasping to put a sentence together. "...Don't get me wrong, sir, I very much would like to see Dr. Brennan... I'm having a hard time just believing the fact that she's alive, to be honest... but I'm not sure what she's going to think about this. She never liked psychology, while she was ali- while she was here."_

_ "I might not be a psychologist myself, Dr. Sweets, but I have faith that you can be what she needs right now. You leave at seven."_

He wasn't sure if Cullen was right, but he knew that they were getting closer to their destination, and he still had no idea what he was going to say to her. How did one talk to someone that had been locked away from society and horribly scarred by the accident that had caused it all to begin with?

What would she think of him? Things had changed. Too much time had passed, too much had _happened_, for that not to be true.

He knew her... or at the very least he liked to believe that he understood her on some level. She would not be accepting of the idea that she had to return to the people she had been pulled away from for so long. She would have already adapted to living alone, with no outside contact. Her social skills had been poor to start... the improvement he'd observed as she spent more time with Booth during their partnership had probably long since disappeared. She would have lost most of the skills associated with interacting on that level.

And she was not going to have an easy time re-learning it all.

The SUV took a sharp turn, and suddenly he took note of the world outside of the vehicle. The road was surrounded on both sides by tall trees, and shadows had taken over for the previous light which had been streaming in. Now, the vehicle jostled from side to side as it made it's way up a dirt track and ground to a halt. He couldn't see around the barrier that blocked off the back seats, and out the side windows all he could make out were more trees.

"We're here," one of the men, the driver, announced calmly. "We will remain in the vehicle. Inform us if there is anything you need, or when you are ready to leave."

He nodded, and then vocalized, "I will. Thanks, uh... for the ride."

No response, but the locks on the doors all snapped up, and he took that to mean he was to get out now.

The building in front of him when his feet hit the crunchy gravel was small at first glance, and overgrown with plants. Blooming flowers coated the front edge, and he had a feeling it was one of the few things she probably took an interest in around this place.

It was more cabin than house... probably something that had taken a great deal of time for her to adjust to, having lived in an apartment atmosphere in the middle of the city for such a long period of her previous life.

He had a thousand different expectations for what it would be like when he stepped up to that door, but they all vanished the instant his hand rose and rapped quickly on the rough wood. There was a long pause, and he couldn't hear any movement inside. He was about to knock again, in case she hadn't heard him, but instinctively he knew that she had. When the door opened a second later, he was proved right. She'd probably been standing there the whole time, ever since the SUV had pulled up her drive.

Seeing her face to face was entirely different than seeing the image in the back of that file. He had known her for several years... to see her like this was shocking to say the least. And it wasn't just the scars on her face, either. It was her... demeanor. The way she dressed. The cold look in her eyes that told him she was waiting to be judged.

"Dr. Brennan," he finally stammered, "I... I can't even..."

She turned her head away, and then stepped back and made room for him to come inside before leaning out and making a motion to the Marshalls. As he moved inwards, staring around at the small, mostly dark, space that she lived in, he heard the crunching of the tires pulling away.

"You asked them to leave?" he said curiously once she had joined him, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. She was wearing a white turtleneck shirt and faded jeans. No jewelry, he noted, and her hair was flat like it hadn't been styled in many months.

She nodded, and then opened her mouth and let out a short breath before she spoke. "I've never liked protective details," she said, her voice curt and to the point. At least one thing hadn't changed.

"Understandable," he said with a nod, and then set the bag of Thai food he'd brought with him down on an open space.

On the way over, he'd tried to think of what he would say to her. Now that she was standing right in front of him, though, he couldn't remember if he'd even come up with anything, or if his mind had been this same level of blank the whole time.

"Cullen sent you over; he must have had a reason for it," she stated as she sat herself down in a computer chair. He carefully took a seat on a couch facing her.

A question was very clearly implied, and he decided it was best to answer rather than risk the strain of an extended awkward silence.

"He wants me to talk to you... in all honesty, I think he wants you to tell Booth that you're alive."

She scoffed. "No."

"Why not, though?"

"Don't try to shrink my head, Dr. Sweets," she warned, her single eye a piercing swirl of brilliant blue. He felt like she could see right through him, and the effect was only heightened by the blankness of her left eye's stare.

"I'll try not to... but it's difficult to not ask questions, even when I'm trying to act as your friend. Right here, right now, I'm not your psychologist. I'm just... here to try and help in any way that I can."

"Be that as it may, I'm not going to allow Cullen to go against his word and inform Agent Booth that I'm alive."

"Don't you think that this case will be solved eventually?"

"If and when that happens... I'll face it. Hope is rather pointless, I've learned."

"So, you do want your old life back?"

"My old life is gone, Sweets," she said with a sigh, leaning back into her chair. "It's been gone for a very long time."

"That's not the attitude I remember," he responded, shaking his head at her, "Dr. Brennan, you're not a quitter. You've faced a lot of things that... I'm sure I couldn't even imagine. This is another hurdle that you will overcome. You're... probably the strongest person I've ever met. And I promise you, that's saying a lot."

She shrugged. "I've had a lot of time to think. It has... changed my perspective, I guess you could say."

"I know you said you didn't want me to use my psychology on you... but I have to know whether or not this is your choice, or a choice you've made out of fear."

"I'm not _afraid_," she said disdainfully. "I've survived, like you said, more than you can even imagine."

"But you're uncomfortable with the idea of revealing the truth to Agent Booth. You've practically admitted it. And that... that is the part that I don't understand. After all, you were furious with Booth, as I remember, for not calling you when his death was faked."

"Which wouldn't have been necessary if you weren't intent on experimenting on my emotions."

He sighed. "I deserved that, I suppose. And I doubt we're going to move on until I've said my piece, so here goes. Dr. Brennan, experimenting to see your reactions was improper of me, and a horrible thing for a friend to do."

"We weren't exactly friends, as I recall."

He waved off the comment, "The point is, I learned something very valuable from what I did, and it wasn't just that I should never do it again. You... are very good at hiding your feelings. But that doesn't mean they don't exist. I previously was under the impression that you would be able to continue to function despite the loss of your partner. I have since learned that I was wrong, and you are an exceptional actress. I'm not sure I can even fathom the scope of pain through which I put you during those ten days."

"You can't," she said, the words rushing out. She looked like she regretted them the moment they escaped.

He nodded sadly. "I thought so. And I'm deeply sorry for it. Now, though, we are at a very similar junction. Surely you must have realized that?"

She looked like she wanted to tell him he was being too much of a psychologist again, but after a short period of hesitation she finally relented. "I have been aware of the similarity since the day I woke up in the hospital."

"Is there a reason you didn't want Booth to know you were alive? It had to have been more than just Cullen's assurance that it was for the best. I know you well enough to know that."

"I'd rather not talk about it."

He took that as his cue to back off. He wasn't going to get anywhere by going right in for the details.

"I understand. Maybe you could... explain how you ended up here, then? I have to admit... I was just told you were _alive_ this afternoon, and I haven't quite grasped it yet, so I don't know all the details. It is... unbelievable to be seeing you again, as you might imagine."

"I know exactly what it's like, thank you," she replied smoothly. "And you can get all the details you need from the file, or from Cullen."

Clearly, she didn't want to talk about that either. He was starting to worry they were going to run out of topics and she was going to shove him out the door before he even had the chance to fully express just how glad he was that she was _here_. He'd barely been able to convey it so far, and he doubted it was going to get easier.

He couldn't even being to picture how happy the rest of her friends were going to be, especially Booth, when they learned the truth as well. Because they were going to, eventually. She might be in denial of that fact, but he'd seen Booth in action already, and he knew that this case was going to be solved. Sooner rather than later, in fact.

"I would be very interested to know if there have been any developments in the case that I haven't heard of, however," she said, breaking through his thoughts.

"Cullen didn't fill you in?"

"He gave me the impression that the case was moving rapidly. I assume that, working at the lab, you might be more up-to-date than he would be. Especially since I've never known the informational link between him and my team to be exceptionally strong during crucial cases."

"That's... actually pretty accurate. But, before I answer that... I have one more question for you." She looked annoyed, but he didn't stop long enough to give her the chance to voice anything. "I see that you have anthropology journals here, and they're up to date. Not to mention many of your artifacts have made their way here as well. I'm curious as to whether or not you've been keeping up with your job, despite not having a lab or victims to examine."

"It's not a part of myself I can shut off," she admitted softly. "And... I will admit that I didn't want to forget anything."

"Thank you," Sweets said, nodding gratefully. "Now, your question, which has a question for an answer, actually. Do you know anyone by the name of Chance Hurst?"

Her face went pale, and he knew right away that the name had resonated with her.

"You do," he stated. "Can you tell me from where? Who is he?"

"I... was in a foster home with the Hurst brothers. Everett and Chance."

"Can you think of any reason why Chance might want to hurt you?"

"Chance? You think _Chance_ tried to kill me? You think he planted the bomb in my apartment building?"

"Angela identified him from a reflection... he was caught in a photograph talking to your doorman shortly before the blast. Only, the doorman claims he didn't see anyone suspicious."

"Maybe he didn't think Chance was someone suspicious, then."

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why she was defending the person that might very well have done this to her, but he was willing to bite.

"The fact remains that he was at your apartment building. Did you see him that day?"

"I can't remember," she said, a sigh in her voice. "I can... remember bits and pieces of that day, but not all of it. For instance, I know exactly what happened in the minutes leading up to the blast, but I can't remember driving home. But he couldn't have done it."

"Why, though? What makes you so sure?"

"Because... then it would be my fault," she whispered.

**You know, I wrote this story a while ago, and then I didn't really think much about how bad all the cliffhangers were. But now, as I'm posting, I'm beginning to see a lot of reasons why someone might want to beat me up. I guess there were two options, though. I could have combined chapters to make them longer and have less cliffies, but then update less often... or I could do what I'm doing now, with fast updates and shorter chapters. I'm not sure which you guys prefer, but I can promise that you won't have to wait long for answers on this one. The next chapter picks right up where this one leaves off.**

**So... feedback? :D  
**


	17. Infectious Reality

**A/N: Sorry for the delay; I know you were all probably expecting this earlier today. This chapter contains more dark themes, but if you read the other chapter... then you should be able to handle this one as well, I think. **

_Chapter 16- Infectious Reality_

_May 12__th__, 2011_

"How would it be your fault?" Sweets asked quietly, and she took in a shaky breath, trying not to let the images seep into her mind. Why was this happening, after all that she'd already had to put up with? Suddenly, she wanted more than anything to be alone.

"I think I'm ready for you to leave now," she said shortly, opening her eyes and turning them on him, her face carefully blank and her emotions under control, for the moment, at least. She knew it wouldn't last, though.

He gave her a long look, his expression just as stiff as hers, and then he gave a jerk of a nod. "I can see why you might think that's a good idea." It was then that she realized the conversation had taken a drastic shift with her words. He was no longer politely inquiring. His eyes were hard and serious... and he didn't look like he was going to get up and leave, no matter what she might say to try and force him to. "But I think you should reconsider."

"Why?" she asked, unable to keep her frustration to herself now that she'd realized his intentions.

"Because," he answered, leaning forward and staring practically through her to insure her complete attention, "Regardless of what you might feel about your situation, or your past, this is all going to come out eventually. Booth has already spoken to your social worker, Cullen tells me, and he's got access to all your files from foster care as well. Right now, as both a member of the FBI and simply as a psychologist, I can tell you that I strongly suspect that these two brothers are the ones that blew up your apartment. And if I'm right, then you can't hide from it forever."

"You assume that this case will be solved," she pointed out. "I'm staying with the much more likely assumption that it will remain a cold case. It's been a year. While my team is exceptional, finding the culprit simply isn't going to happen."

He shook his head, "If you could only _hear_ what you sound like, Dr. Brennan! This, right here, is what I'm trying to make you understand. You've become conditioned to your environment. You _like_ it here, because it is where you are _safe_. You don't have to face your emotions, or your fears, and you don't have to face _Booth_. Rationally, though, you _know_ I'm right when I say this isn't going to last forever."

She wanted to come up with an argument to shoot him down and make him look like an idiot, but nothing was coming to mind, and she looked away, fury shining in her eyes. She didn't want him to be right, but his logic was hard to run away from. The very _idea_ of seeing Booth again was enough to make her want to flee into the woods and never come back.

That meant something, and even she couldn't deny it.

"I'm not asking you to tell me everything, Temperance," he said gently, clearly having seen her defense beginning to crumble. "I'm just asking you to _help_ me. The sooner this case is solved, the sooner it will all be over, and the sooner you can get past the parts that you fear."

If anyone could solve this case, it _would_ be her partner. With the help of her team, of course. And the fact remained that even while she wanted more than anything to deny it, the reality was staring her in the face.

The sooner the responsible parties were captured and held accountable, the sooner she might be able to forget about the terrible anxiety that was currently gnawing away at her stomach.

As of yet, though, she didn't want to consider the possibility that those responsible had been the two boys she'd lived with in foster care.

"Fine," she said softly. "But I hope that this will clear their names, rather than prove anything."

"That's only natural," he said, his tone returning to its former level of understanding and gentle nudging. "Could you begin by maybe telling me how you came to meet Everett and Chance?"

She blew out a breath, and then started resolutely, determined not to let her voice shake. "I was seventeen and a half, almost exactly, when I was placed with the Carltons. I had just come from one of my few good homes... a young couple that left me almost entirely to myself. Their adoption forms finally went through, though, and they got the baby that they had always wanted. Next to that, I was unimportant."

"The younger the better," Sweets recalled softly, and she glanced up at him in surprise before remembering, in a sudden rush, that Sweets had spent some time in the system. He had been young, though, and had been quickly placed and adopted.

She nodded in agreement, looking away again before speaking once more. "The Hurst brothers were already there. They were close in age; Everett was fourteen and Chance thirteen at the time. Both of them were quiet... reserved, really. It was always... a bad sign. The first thing you did in a new home was see how the current kids acted. If they were either really happy to meet you or they tried to avoid you, chances were that one or both of the foster parents was abusive. Rarely, maybe even one of their own children. In one of my earlier homes, the parents were kind, but their son..."

She trailed off, suddenly aware of who she was talking to, and of the fact that she had started to just spew out everything at once. If this was an effect of spending so much time in silence, with no one to speak to, she didn't like it much at all.

"Tell me only what you're comfortable with," Sweets reassured, and it took a moment before she put together his words and managed to nod once. It took longer before she located her train of thought and began again.

"Everett and Chance avoided me, right off, so I knew that it was probably going to be a bad home. The first two days were quiet, but that didn't mean anything. That was always how it was."

Here she paused, and calculated how much she wanted to share. In the end, she went with the censured version, deciding that she didn't much feel like breaking down in front of him, something that was ten times more likely given her emotional isolation this past year.

"I found out why they were so afraid on the third night." She took a shaky breath, forcefully chanting her next words over and over in her mind to push the images away. "I managed to get them to talk to me about a week after. They were... afraid, but now that I was in the picture, I had taken all the attention away from them." She cleared her throat. "Joseph preferred girls, apparently," she managed.

"Did you report what happened?" Sweets questioned softly, carefully keeping his tone from being even slightly accusatory. Something she was familiar with.

Clearly, he hadn't had access to the files that Booth was in possession of. She didn't want to think about him reading them, and so she answered quickly to distract herself. "I reported every incident, in every home. No one ever listened to me."

"Why?" he asked, his question not probing this time, but rather reflecting his shock.

She shook her head, "I was labeled," she said simply. "I'm not sure how exactly it was attached, but whenever I filed a report, it was assumed I was lying. Maybe there was an evaluation, but those failed to work out for me just the same. Occasionally, I got out of the home simply because they got tired of dealing with my complaints... and that was why I kept sending them, no matter what."

"Why wouldn't they _believe_ you, though?" He didn't seem able to believe it, and she decided that it would be best to just get it over with and explain the whole thing to him.

"In my first month in the system, I was in a home with another foster kid, Derek Bradley. He... protected me. Looked out for me... taught me about the system, about how to stay safe and even how to properly fill out a report. We... dated, but never engaged in sexual intercourse. That, of course, was something else no one believed.

"The _problem_ was that Derek wasn't clean. He had a record, and he did drugs to take his mind off of other things. He offered me some, more than once, and I... I can't lie and say that I wasn't tempted. But I still, at that point, believed my parents were coming back for me. I couldn't do it, not after how they'd brought me up.

"One night, Derek wasn't around to look after me, and..." she bit her lip and shook her head, raising slightly misty eyes to look at Sweets. At once, she saw that his eyes held an understanding, and she gratefully took advantage and skipped ahead. "I reported it... and it was looked into. In the end, though..." she closed her eyes, and then rushed through it. "The man they sent to investigate ruled that Derek and I had had sex, our foster parents had found out, and I had _panicked_ and decided to blame it on them so I wouldn't get in trouble and I could get placed somewhere new."

"I'm so sorry," he whispered softly, and she just nodded through the now unstoppable tirade of tears pouring down her face before she reached across the table and snatched a tissue, brushing angrily at her eyes.

This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid.

"After that," she choked out, "Every problem I reported was explained away like I was just... _garbage_ that couldn't be _bothered_ with. And I... I lived with the bruises that proved just how little people cared."

After she ground those final words out, she fell silent, sniffing slightly as she tried to contain the rest of the tears.

"I know you've probably heard it plenty of times before," he murmured finally, drawing her eyes up to his, "But they were wrong. So very wrong. And it... it really hurts to think of what you went through."

She shook her head, biting her lip. "Actually, you're wrong," she whispered, her eyes locked on his as she took a long few breaths and steadied herself. "I haven't heard it often at all."

His eyes widened in shock. "Dr. Brennan..."

"Brennan," she corrected, the word coming out as a harsh rasp. "Please, just... I'm not... just call me Brennan. Please."

He might have wanted to question her reasoning, but if he did, he pushed away the urge, because he simply nodded.

"Alright, Brennan... you do believe me when I say that you were worth more than that, don't you?"

She nodded shakily. "I know that I'm much more valuable than they treated me as being," she said softly.

But now he was the one shaking his head. "Not as a member of society, although that's true as well. What I meant was as a _person. _As a human being with thoughts and feelings and _compassion_ unlike anyone else."

"I'm not the heart person," she said, looking away for the first time.

"And why not? Because that's what you've been telling yourself for years? It's possible to have compassion and be intelligent as well. You're living proof... I would know, I wrote a book on you and Booth."

She didn't give an answer. Her mind was spinning with words from a night so long ago.

_"You're right,"_ he said, the words repeating over and over again. She took a shaky breath, her fingers lacing together and her head tilting up to stare at the ceiling as she tried to calm her racing heartbeat. She didn't want to think about this anymore than she had wanted to talk about her time in the system.

"Brennan?" Sweets' voice drew her back to the present, and she blinked a few times as she focused on him. "Did you hear what I said?"

She eventually managed to give her head a quick shake back and forth.

"I asked you if there was some other reason I don't know about for why you might not want to go back to your old life."

"No," she said firmly. "There isn't. Were there... any other questions you had for me, for the investigation?"

He sighed, obviously not believing her, and while he didn't press the issue, she knew he would probably attempt to go back to it later. "Just one other thing. What happened when you left the Carltons?"

She'd been expecting that, but it didn't make the answer any easier to give.

"As I said earlier... while I was around, Everett and Chance were relatively safe. And... in a way, I guess I was glad of that fact. I didn't want anything to happen to them."

"You had taken over the role of protector," Sweets surmised, and she nodded slightly.

"I guess you could say that. But when I... aged out of the system, Joseph kicked me out of the house. It was my eighteenth birthday, and they just... shoved me out on the street with a garbage bag of my belongings. I had a scholarship for college, full-ride, but I had no idea what to do. My birthday... it's in July. School wouldn't be starting for a month, and besides, I had nothing for my dorm and no transportation to get there. When that door shut behind me, though, I couldn't think of anything but the Hursts... Everett was fifteen, barely, and Chance was still thirteen. Joseph... I couldn't see him doing anything but taking out his frustrations on them because... I wasn't available anymore.

"That was my first time on the streets at night. I had picked up some self-defense over the years, but I knew I'd never be able to protect myself from a grown man. And it wasn't exactly a safe neighborhood to start with. I broke back into the house, through my old bedroom window, as soon as night fell. I had planned to hide out until morning and then maybe try to find a shelter to stay at until August, but I heard Joseph come up the stairs at close to midnight, and I couldn't... I just couldn't let it happen."

"You tried to protect them from him," Sweets guessed softly.

"Yes, I tried. I gave him a black eye... and he nearly choked me to death." Sweets was deathly silent, and she sighed and went on, "When I came to, the police were there. They were already siding with the Carltons, and before I knew it they had me at the station in a holding cell. That was when my social worker showed up. She told me that she'd convinced the Carltons to drop all charges so long as they never saw me again. She would get me situated in a shelter until school started, and drop me off at the dorm building. As a result, all my reports would be sealed and I had to promise not to testify against them if they were ever arrested."

"You didn't have much of a choice."

"No," she sighed. "I didn't. Which is why I chose to agree, and attempt to move on with my life. It was either that, or lose my scholarship and live on the streets for the rest of my life."

"You made the right choice," he reasoned.

"I tried to convince myself of that everyday. But sometimes I just wondered what would have happened if I had kept fighting."

"You would have probably ended up homeless and addicted to drugs. Temperance, you've given back more than enough to society with your life, especially with how unfair society was to _you_ to begin with."

She shook her head. "Then explain why you so strongly believe that Everett and Chance tried to kill me, if not because they blame me for what they went through after I left them?"

It was his turn to look away without an answer.

She sighed. "Do you still believe it was them, then?"

"Unfortunately, I have to say that from what you've told me, it makes it more likely. But I promise that, just like any other lead, it will be thoroughly looked into."

"I just... can't imagine them trying to hurt anyone."

"Sadly, that's often the case. I don't mean to... classify, as it isn't true _all_ of the time... but children that suffer abuse often blame someone, and are more likely to become violent later in life."

"You mean like how you believed Booth's aggression stemmed from his childhood abuse."

"It is a common side effect. I think the main factor in deciding if they are guilty, at this point, though, is that we haven't found them yet." He held up his cell phone. "I was promised a call the moment Angela came up with anything on Chance. That, of course, and the fact that he was at your building the day of the bombing, practically just before the explosion."

She'd forgotten that detail while they'd been talking.

"I want the truth," she said finally. "Whatever it might be... I just want to know what happened that day."

He smiled eagerly. "That's the Brennan I remember. Thank you." He pulled his cell from his pocket and made a motion to her before standing up and hitting a speed dial button. A moment later he said, "Yes, sir, I've talked to Dr. Brennan." He stepped into the hallway to continue the conversation, and she listened to the muffled sound of him relaying the information, in details limited to only the most important and relevant, to Cullen.

"I should probably get going," he said when he returned, still holding the phone.

She hesitated for a moment, and glanced at the clock. It was past ten; they'd been talking for longer than she'd realized.

"No, if... if you want to stay, I have a guest room... I just used the closet in it for storage, mostly."

His eyes went wider than they had the whole time they'd been talking. "Really? I mean, you would want me to..."

"You are welcome to stay," she reiterated. "Judging from how long that Thai food has been sitting there, it's probably cold. I'll just..." she reached for it, and he picked it up at the same moment and held it out to her. She smiled softly, grateful for a moment for just _having_ another human being nearby with whom to interact. "I'll go heat it up... would you like anything to drink?"

It was weird, being able to ask such a question.

She couldn't deny that she rather enjoyed it.

"Whatever you're having will be fine with me," he said, and she could tell that he was glad that she'd made the offer to let him stay. And for some reason, she didn't think that it was because he wanted to spend time observing her. No, this was because he was a member of her old family, and he cared about her.

The feeling was practically infectious, and she grinned softly to herself as she disappeared into the kitchen.

While she wasn't exactly certain that things would ever work out if and when she was forced back into her old life, this small dose of reality was enough to make her think that it wasn't all to be feared.

Maybe.

**Feedback? :D**


	18. Hazy Judgment

**A/N: Welcome back everyone :) My school year is winding down towards graduation, so pretty soon I'm going to have a lot more time to work on my stories-which means finally writing more of this one, hopefully with enough time to spare before I run out of pre-written chapters, haha. **

**With this chapter, we're back to the case once more. But we're closing in. **

_Chapter 17- Hazy Judgment_

_May 13__th__, 2011_

"Have any of you seen Sweets?" Booth asked as he climbed the stairs up to the platform and joined the team around the evidence table that was currently covered with an array of evidence. Hodgins was missing; assumably he was off running tests with the also absent Zach.

"Not this morning, no," Cam answered, frowning. "Why, can the FBI not find him?"

"No, I was just wondering... Cullen told me he was supposed to be following me everywhere, and working the case with us, but I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon, and I've been working plenty since then. It's just weird... I mean, you know him."

"Yeah, I do. Maybe he had other business to attend to, though... if you ask me, he's already changed his mind about going back to New York. Can you seriously see him leaving after all this?"

"I can't," Angela volunteered with a raised eyebrow. "And I think it would be nice if he stuck around... we've already lost enough members of this team as it is. We've barely all worked together since the bombing."

Wendell nodded in agreement.

"Is there anything new?" he asked, changing the subject. He hadn't had much success on his end, except for finding out more about her past, and he was hopeful that maybe they'd uncovered something that might push the investigation in a new direction. A direction that he could run with.

"Hodgins thinks he's figured out the explosives, and we haven't seen him since he ran off with Zach and Nigel-Murray as soon as he got through the doors. I've got some new info to share, though. I've been waiting for you to get here."

His phone started buzzing in his pocket just as he was about to ask her about it, and he growled out a frustrated sound before yanking it out and pressing it to his ear.

"Booth."

"Agent Booth," Weaver's voice sounded in his ear, and he rolled his eyes. The man sounded pleased with himself, his stupid arrogance resonating in only two words.

"You have something?" he asked. The man might be a moron, but there had to be a reason why he was calling.

"As a matter of fact, I do. If you spent more time at the office than with your little squints, you'd have heard it this morning with everyone else."

"Spill, Weaver."

"Now that's not really the tone you want to take with the lead investigator on a case you're only being _allowed_ to look at, is it?"

He ground his teeth together. "Do you intend to tell me what you have, or do I have to come over there and ask Cullen?"

"I'm tempted to have you do exactly that, but I'd rather not have to listen to another lecture about your involvement, so... I'll save us both the bother. We've got IDs on the killers."

"Killers?" he asked, feeling annoyingly flustered by that plural.

Weaver only sounded more smug when he responded. "Apparently your brainiacs aren't on the top of their game. They were given the information a half hour ago. Or maybe they just didn't think you should be involved?"

"Oh, so you're telling me that I could just ask them what they were about to tell me before you interrupted, and then I _wouldn't_ have to put up with you?"

The line went dead, and he snapped the phone shut, barely resisting the urge to chuck the annoying electronic device at the nearest solid object.

"You had better know what the heck he was talking about," he snapped, turning his attention back to the team, and specifically Angela.

She looked like she wanted to snap back, or maybe yell at him for taking out his frustration on her, but she bit back whatever words had come to her mind, and gave her head a quick shake before answering. "As I was _about _to say _anyways_... I got a call from one of the agents under Weaver this morning, and it turns out we have an ID on not only the suspect, but on the doorman as well. Chance and Everett Hurst... brothers who were in the foster system with Brennan."

"And... one of them was her _doorman?"_

"Everett, yes. As soon as I got the information that Chance had a brother, I ran the software specifically to recognize similar features in the doorman and Chance... off a hunch, of course... and I got a match that proved the doorman wasn't Theodore Howard, but Everett."

"So he was what... stalking her?"

"It really looks that way," Angela agreed with a sad nod.

"What did the agent say about motive? And where the _hell_ did he get the information? Did you tell Weaver about your ID of Chance?"

"Booth, you're the only one I told about the ID. And Agent Kent didn't tell me anything besides the ID and that they were in foster care together. As to how he got the info, he said Weaver had briefed their team on it that morning, and he'd been told to inform the Jeffersonian."

"Weaver's got a source," he muttered, cursing under his breath. "He's got someone feeding him information."

"Booth, we don't know that," Cam pointed out, worry creasing her brow.

"Oh, the hell we don't. Weaver's been out for his own personal gain from the start. Do you think he's really going to share his source, even if it could help us solve this case?"

"If he has a source, then I agree that it probably isn't likely," Ange answered carefully. "But we don't know for sure that he actually does. Maybe, as much as we think they're incapable... they finally managed to figure something out on their own."

He snorted. "Sure. I'm heading over there right now to squeeze a name out of that punk."

"Booth!" Angela shouted after him as he spun and bounded down the stairs.

"Don't do anything _stupid_, for God's sake!" Cam called, but he just waved her off as he disappeared out the glass doors and hurried back to the parking lot. He'd barely been at the lab five minutes, and he was already going back to the office.

He was going to kill Weaver when he got his hands on him. Screw policy, screw Cullen. He was going to get _answers_, and that piece of shit that dared call himself an agent knew more than he was saying.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

It didn't take him long to locate the man he was looking for. He was leaned against the wall in the lounge next to the coffee machine, hands shoved in his pockets and a smirk parked on his face as he chatted with Agent Briggs.

"Excuse me," Booth said, his voice dripping with politeness as he pushed Briggs out of the room and firmly shut the door behind him.

"I figured you'd be here soon," Weaver commented, not at all intimidated by Booth's glare.

"Spill," he snapped back in response. "Where did you get your info from? Because there is no _way_ you _figured it out_ on your _own_."

"If I remember correctly, Booth, you were _granted_ the right to _look_ into the case. You have no rights to it, and certainly no right to be questioning _me_. You'll get whatever information I'm kind enough to share."

That was all it took before he was right in the other man's face, his eyes a furiously dark shade of brown and his eyebrows drawn tight together as he set his jaw.

"You little _prick_," he hissed. "You still don't get it, do you? I am going to find out who killed my partner. No. Matter. What. And if you're going to get in my way, then I'm going to have to _move_ you myself, aren't I?"

"You can certainly try," Weaver sneered back, all signs of patient arrogance gone as he, too, descended into hostility.

"It's men like you that clog up the justice system. Glory hogs and _idiots_. You get in the _way_, because you don't care about anything or anyone but _yourselves_."

"And you're so much better, blindly chasing after leads just so you don't have to feel guilty that you couldn't protect your partner?"

His arm flew up and pinned Weaver's throat, pushing his head back into the wall. He made a small choking sound, and reached up to grasp Booth's arm and attempt to push it away, but he wasn't budging.

"You will _never_ have a partner, so you will _never _understand. And I'm thinking that's a real good thing, because you don't _deserve_ it. If you don't start talking soon, and trying to solve this case by _cooperating_, then I'm going to make your life a living hell, long after this case is over. Are we clear?"

Weaver shoved him away at last, huffing out several harsh, angry breaths and running his tongue over his chapped lips.

"Ask your buddy Cullen. Then maybe you'll start figuring out that _no_ _one_ in this building gives a shit about your involvement any more than to keep you quiet."

He would have liked to finish strangling him, but instead he stood by as the other man yanked open the door and stormed off to his office, giving himself a few minutes to compose himself and think of exactly what he wanted to say before he left as well and made his way in the opposite direction. If Cullen had the answers, then he'd go right to him. He was tired of not being able to do enough.

Cullen looked like he'd been expecting him, because when he knocked, the reply was instantaneous, and his boss had his hands twined together and his glasses lowered on his nose.

"You're going to have to stop roughing up your coworkers, Agent," he said calmly as Booth took his seat.

He looked up in surprise, and Cullen shook his head and gave an unamused chuckle.

"I'm aware of what you get up to around the office, Booth, regardless of what you might think. And while I trust your judgment, it's been getting hazy lately. Am I going to have to assign Sweets to follow your every step throughout the day? Because his supervision of you can be raised to the next level."

"I apologize, sir," he said affirmatively. "I'm just... finding it rather challenging to work when certain information is kept from me."

"Which is why you were supposed to be informed of the new information this morning, just like everyone else. Clearly that didn't work out very well, and I'm not going to lie, it probably had a large deal to do with the ridiculous animosity between you and Agent Weaver. I'd like you to keep in mind," he said, stressing his words, "That while you might think you have a better chance of solving this case than Weaver, he is still the agent in charge. You'd do well to keep him in _your_ loop of information, as well as _attempt_ to respect his position."

"I understand, sir."

"But you have a question."

He was almost as good as Sweets with reading people when they barely said anything at all, and he sighed and nodded. Cullen indicated that he should go ahead, and he leaned forward slightly to speak.

"Sir, I came to understand that the information about the Hursts originated from you, and I was... hoping you might be able to explain to me where it came from to begin with?"

He knew he was reaching, and he wasn't at all surprised when his boss leaned back in his chair, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

"Unfortunately, the source of my information is strictly classified. No agent here, even Weaver, knows where I learned it from. And it is going to stay that way. I trust you won't have a problem with that, unless you'd like to say that I can't be trusted to treat a source with every precaution and protocol?"

"Of course not, sir," he answered as stiffly as he could, but he knew his disappointment was probably evident on his face.

"Good. Get back to work, Booth. When the Hursts are located, I expect you to be ready to join the team that brings them in."

"Thank you, sir," he said gratefully. At least that was one thing that was working out for him. That, and the fact that he had somehow escaped being yelled at, again, for his behavior. He suspected, as he had before, that it had a great deal to do with Cullen's understanding of his feelings about losing his partner. And he was thankful for that.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"What did you find out?" Ange asked apprehensively when he appeared in her office door. She was the only one he'd been able to find; Cam was missing from her office, and the anthropologists as well as Hodgins were all out of sight.

"Not much, other than that I'm not going to be finding out where the info came from. Apparently, Cullen received the tip himself, and he's not sharing with anyone."

"Better than Weaver," she muttered, turning back to her computer and tapping a few more keys.

"My thoughts exactly, but I'd still like to know who this person is... and why they know so much about her. What are you working on?" he added as a sudden afterthought, eyeing the large screen with a frown.

Instead of the faces of the Hurst brothers, it was now covered with images of the wall where the blast had originated, from both apartments that it had bordered.

"Everyone else is taking a more physical approach to the explosion... I wanted to analyze it myself, using the methods that work best for me."

"And what exactly _is_ everyone else doing?"

"Well, from what I understand, they've finally finished blowing things up. Hodgins has the compound isolated, and Cam is running data for him. I think Wendell and Nigel-Murray are just watching, at this point. And as for Zach, he's been buried in the security system for the past hour. It's really frustrating him... he said something about it being far too simple to have possibly worked, which is what messed up the techs that first looked into it. I have no idea what he meant by that, because he zoned out again after he said it, and I didn't bother trying to get his attention back. You remember how he gets."

He couldn't help a slight chuckle. "I don't think anyone that met Zach could forget. Here's hoping he pulls something useful from it, although at this point I'm not sure what good it's going to do. Weaver's team is tracking down the Hursts... lab data isn't going to find where they're hiding out now, a year after the bombing."

"Yes, but it will explain what happened, and it will help us get them convicted."

"Mm," he grunted, frowning at the screen.

She turned to look at him, first confusion and then alarm displaying across her features.

"You don't expect there to be a trial, do you?"

"If I can help it... then no, I don't expect it to be necessary."

"Booth, you can't kill them to get revenge. What would Brennan think of that? And... we _need _you. If you're in prison, then what will we do? Go back to four hundred year old murders again?"

"I don't intend to go to prison, Ange. I can tell you right now, even though I'm not a psychologist, that it's very likely those two will be armed when we find them. And they aren't likely to want to be arrested. I might not even be the one to fire the shots."

She sighed to herself, and then chose not to argue with his logic.

"In the end, though, all the data we can come up with will tell us the full story." She pointed out, "And that is just as important to getting this case closed as catching the culprits will be."

He couldn't argue with that... after all, how many times had he imagined the final sequence of events, and wondered what had _really_ happened? To know... would take away a lot of the mystery that was haunting him.

"Well, you keep working on this, and I'm going to go see if I can find Cam and see if they've made any progress."

"You do that, G-man. And... just, y'know... try to think about what she would have wanted. Because you knew her better than any of us, and you know best what she would say to you, if she were here."

He nodded slightly, but added just as he stepped back out into the lab. "The only thing is, though... she's not here. And that's the problem."

The door shut solidly behind him, and he rounded the corner, his footsteps ringing in the quiet air of the abandoned section of lab platform.


	19. Invincible Images

**A/N: Glad you are all enjoying how this is going. Like I said before, we're getting closer to the interactions you want to see most. **

_Chapter 18- Invincible Images_

_May 13__th__, 2011_

For a long moment after he opened his eyes, he couldn't remember where he was. The ceiling over his head was rough wood, and the bed was creaky and stiff, like it hadn't ever been used. The air smelled like leaves and dirt, like a forest after a long rain. He frowned slightly, pulling his arms up to free his hands from the rough-hewn blanket he was covered with.

The window was covered with a thin shade that gave away the brightness of early morning, which came through in long thin streams and danced along the opposite wall and the ceiling. He blinked in it, looking around and gathering his thoughts.

Brennan was alive.

That was the first thing that came to mind when he finally connected his location with the memories from yesterday. It was a light, buoyant feeling, knowing the truth. As if the last year had been nothing more than a false alarm, or that moment when the heart drops after hearing something horrifying only to a moment later be reassured. It had all been a lie, because she was here, in this very house.

If he hadn't woken up here, he probably would have doubted the reality of it all, and cast it off as a disappointing and rather depressing dream.

As it was, though, all the proof he needed was surrounding him. He glanced towards the closet door, which was propped open by one of many cardboard boxes stuffed inside of the small space. They were all labeled neatly, and yet he could tell she'd never bothered unpacking them. _Dishes_, the one nearest to him read in bold black sharpie lettering. Apparently, not everything had been destroyed in the explosion... but he couldn't blame her for not wanting to see any of it. That would have only been a painful reminder of what she was being kept away from.

That, though, was a part of a question he'd had nagging at the back of his mind ever since he'd heard the news. Why didn't she want to go back to her life? He could guess, and analyze, sure. But that could only get him part of the story. He knew, without a doubt, that a portion of it came from her comfort zone now being centered around this isolated life she'd been living. She wasn't that narrow-minded, though, and she certainly wasn't so afraid of change that she would risk the pain of her closest friends. No matter what she said or did, he knew that she cared about all of them more than she ever let show. She wouldn't sacrifice their happiness without good reason.

It was just a matter of getting her to _explain_. And that wasn't going to be easy... it never had been, back before her faked death. Now it was guaranteed to be even more challenging to get her to reveal something so deeply personal.

Clearly, it had something to do with wanting to protect Booth and the others. She'd been told by Cullen that they, as well as her, were safer if they didn't know. That had been a year ago, though, and Brennan was a very stubborn woman. If she had wanted them to know, and had only held off to keep them safe, then they would know by _now_. A year was a long time, and something had changed since the day she'd woken up in that hospital.

He shifted his legs over the side of the bed and found that the floor was extremely cold. Shivering, he hopped his way over to the chair where he'd put his clothing. Not having access to his usual nightwear, he'd settled for his undershirt and boxers. He had absolutely no intent of going to kitchen in them, though, and he pulled on the pants and shirt he'd been wearing the day before, as well as a pair of socks that he was now grateful for, before he stepped into the hallway and made his way towards the kitchen.

Her bedroom door was open when he passed it, and her bed was unkempt, but empty. As he rounded the corner, he heard the clinking of a spoon in what was probably her coffee mug. He was proved right when he stepped into the dimly lit space to find her standing with her back to him at the counter, just setting the spoon down next to her coffee maker. She turned, cream in hand, and didn't see him. He realized too late that he was on her blind side, and a second later she had caught sight of his shadow and jumped alarmingly, almost dumping the contents of the creamer all over the floor.

That was something he didn't think he was ever going to get used to. Every time he looked at her, her image jolted through him. The scars were pink, and he could tell they were as healed as they were ever going to be. They might not have even been that noticeable if they didn't cut through the muscles of her cheek and alter the very chemistry of her features. The slight pull down of her lip and eyebrow... the cold blankness of her left eye.

She was still beautiful, as she had always been and always would be. Brennan held a sort of mysterious glory to her, one that existed in her face as well as her overall stance. The way she'd held herself had always struck him, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been interested. Any man that wasn't would have to be gay or blind, in his opinion.

As with just about every intelligent male who saw her interact with Booth, though, he knew that she was taken. Even if she didn't think so. Which was why he never would have dared to try anything. Regardless of that, however, he'd always been capable of appreciating her as a woman and as a brilliant coworker.

And even with the scarring, she was still elegant. The right side of her face was pristine and undamaged, looking just the way he always remembered. When he got used to seeing the shocking change, he knew he'd be able to look past it completely. For now, it still hit him like a punch in the gut.

"Jesus," she choked, brushing at the droplets of cream that had splashed onto her tank top. Clearly she'd just gotten out of bed and gone straight to the coffee... he suspected she might have actually forgotten he was here.

With her arms bare, since she clearly hadn't made any changes to her routine sleepwear because of him, he could see that the extent of the damage from the bomb wasn't exclusive to her face. Her left arm had slices of shimmering scar tissue on it as well, but they were less obvious.

She'd noticed him staring, because she set the creamer down and crossed her arms, looking surprisingly self-conscious. She refused to meet his eyes, her gaze set resolutely on the tile floor.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"For what?" she asked after a long pause, and it was clear she didn't actually want to ask, but felt obligated to fill the void of silence.

"For what you've been through, and for making you remember," he answered as calmly as he could manage. Internally, he was terrified he might have just locked her back in her shell with nothing more than his stare.

When she didn't say anything at all in response, he started to worry that he had been right, but then she began speaking, so quietly that he had to step closer to catch her words.

"There are more, you know." She gestured down the left side of her body with a wave of one hand. "They'll never heal... not completely. And you've tried not to stare, which I appreciate... but the fact is that people are _going_ to stare. Because I'm..." she trailed off, and shook her head, clamping her teeth on her lower lip and brushing her hair out of her face as she tried to maintain control.

"You're what?" he asked, curious. He needed to hear from her what she thought of her appearance. Otherwise, he wasn't going to risk telling her his opinion, in case he was incorrect about hers to begin with.

"I'm ugly," she whispered, a tear slipping out of her eye and trailing down the smooth and pristine right side of her face.

The words, even though he'd known they were likely, still hit him like a punch in the gut, and made his insides twist with discomfort. To hear such deep trouble and pain in anyone's voice was always difficult to confront, but to have it be from someone he knew, and knew to be immensely confident and comfortable with _herself_... was twice as challenging.

"No, you're not," he argued back firmly. "Nothing, _nothing_, could ever make someone like you ugly, Dr. Brennan. And even scars won't make Booth think of you any differently than he always has in the past."

Her eyes widened in alarm. "What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with Booth... I'm simply stating a fact. By..." she took a shaky breath, "By all the standards of society, my structure no longer fits into the categories perceived as beautiful."

"Don't rationalize this," he said, shaking his head warningly. "What you need to understand is that the people that matter most don't _care_ what you look like. They, _we_, have been torn up about losing you since that day in the hospital over a year ago. The fact that you are _alive_ is going to overshadow _everything_. And even after things begin to become normal for you again, the way you _look_ is never going to be a factor in any decisions anyone makes. You're still you."

She shrugged, as though she'd barely even heard his words, and he sighed in frustration, trying to think of some way to convince her that he was right. His fingers drummed softly on to the counter beside him, and she stared past him at the wall of the hallway, her eyes seeing something that wasn't there.

"Brennan?" he asked after a minute had ticked past, concern etched in his tone.

She started slightly, her eyes flickering over his face for a moment before focusing on his eyes, her expression tainted with surprise.

"Where did you go?" he asked, "A minute ago, when you sort of... zoned out. What were you thinking about?"

She sighed. "I was... remembering. On the... on the night of the explosion, I had been about to go eat the Thai food I had picked up, but I turned to head back up the hallway."

"And that's when the blast went off," he finished solemnly.

She nodded. "I don't remember anything that happened after that, although I do recall that someone told me I was conscious for a moment when they were loading me into the ambulance. Sometimes, if I'm not thinking of anything, I'll see a flashing light before I realize that there isn't one."

"So the memory never fully formed," he concluded. "They never told us you were conscious at all... just another thing they left out, I suppose."

She hesitated a moment, and then turned and opened her cabinet, her face set with determination as she pulled out a second mug and poured coffee into it. Without a word, she held it out to him, and he accepted it, as well as the creamer. He mixed the cream in to his liking, and thanked her quietly as she stepped past him to put the creamer back into her refrigerator. She picked up her own mug and then sat down at the small kitchen table, her eyes finding his and making a clear suggestion. He pulled out the seat opposite her and settled into it, sipping at the steaming liquid as he waited for her to speak. Clearly, she had something that she wanted to share, but wasn't sure about.

It was a question, however, that finally made its way through her lips.

"How did... " she began, but then rephrased, "What happened, in the hospital?"

For some reason, it had never crossed his mind that she might ask about it. He'd been so focused on what had happened to her, that he'd completely forgotten that she was probably just as desperate to hear about what had happened to Booth and the rest of the team on that day.

"I can't speak for the others... but I was at my apartment when I got the call from Caroline. She's the one that called everyone... I think Booth called her, to be honest, but I don't know the details because... well, he doesn't talk about it at all, and I didn't dare ask her either."

"How long were you in the waiting room?" she asked, her coffee sitting forgotten in front of her as she waited for his answer.

"Three hours," he answered, not even having to think back to recall that detail. They had been the longest three hours of his life—next to the long hours he had sat, with Brennan that time, waiting for news about Booth's condition.

She nodded slightly, and was clearly waiting for him to continue explaining what had happened.

"Booth was pacing... I remember that. I don't think he sat still the whole time we were waiting. But that shouldn't surprise you. And... you know what the wait is like."

She swallowed hard and managed one quick nod.

"It was basically the same as it was after Booth was shot, except we knew less. With Booth... we were all there. We knew what had happened in detail. With you... we were all called to the hospital from what we'd been doing, and all we knew was that there was an explosion. We had no idea of the extent of your injuries, or your chances. Booth kept harassing the nurses that came by, but whenever they tried to kick him out he flashed his badge and Angela would intervene.

"I... dozed off, for about a half an hour, towards the end. And then the surgeon came out and told us you hadn't survived the surgery."

"Booth?" It was a one-word question, but he understood it perfectly.

"He reacted, initially, the same way that you did, when you were told he was dead."

She stiffened immediately, and he knew that his words had an effect on her. Under other circumstances, he might have amended or apologized, because he knew it was a challenging subject for her... but in this case, it was probably best that she be prepared for some hostility. While the overall reaction to her being alive was going to be joy and excitement, eventually there would be pain and anger that would boil up to the surface, just as had been the case when Booth returned.

Except, of course, that had been two weeks. This had been over a year.

"He refused to believe it was true, and at one point he actually demanded to see you. Obviously the surgeon managed to refuse him, because... well, there wasn't actually a body. Angela sort of... collapsed, and Cam... well, she looked too shocked to do anything, really. I don't think you fully understand, but the thing is, most of your family, your _friends_, had this sort of image of you as being... invincible, in a way."

He waited for her to say something about how irrational that was, but she merely looked away and bit her lip again.

Tentatively, he continued, "I didn't see Booth for a few days after that... Angela told me that she'd checked on him, and found him at your apartment, digging through the rubble. He found this... charred picture of the two of you, in a broken frame, and he wouldn't let it go. She asked me what I thought, and I told her that it was probably the best way for him to cope right then. She said something else, about him being unable to find a few trinkets that he said he gave to you... apparently he was distraught that they had been destroyed."

Her eyes met his, wide with recognition, and then she stood abruptly and hurried around the table and out of the kitchen. He wondered, for a moment, if she was upset and had run to get away from him, but it only took a short minute for her to return, clutching two objects. She placed them on the table between the two of them, and he leaned forward to get a better look.

A small plastic pig and a Smurf. He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting this time for an explanation from her.

"This is Jasper, and Brainy Smurf," she said quietly, pointing to each item in turn. "In our second year of partnership, I shot and killed a man to save Booth's life."

"And that was the first time you'd ever killed?"

She nodded, "I was... understandably upset, but I was trying to cope with it. And... Booth knew exactly what to say, and what to do."

"With a plastic pig?" he couldn't avoid being curious about it; after all, it was an unusual present to give someone.

"I had mentioned to him, in passing, that if I had a pet, I would have a pig and I would name him Jasper. I learned later, from Angela, that he'd actually been planning on buying me a real pig. Apparently reality caught up to him, though, and the sentiment of a small plastic pig... while not something I would usually engage in... still effected me greatly."

The fact that Booth had cared enough to pay attention to something about her, and to act on it, would have been a huge point in their relationship. He didn't mention it, though, because she already knew it herself, even if she wasn't likely to consider it in such terms.

"You requested that these items be salvaged and brought to you?"

Again, she nodded. "They're one of the few things I've hung on to. I don't... have any pictures. I figured it was better that way."

"Why?"

She studied him for a moment, and then decided to indulge him. "When I was told I was being placed in Witness Protection, I wanted to tell everyone I was alive. I fought with Cullen over it, but in the end agreed to stay silent, but only because it was safer that way. After a while, though, I... realized that it was wisest not to believe I would be going back to me old life."

Finally, he was starting to get the reasoning. He was starting to understand.

"You didn't think the FBI would be able to catch the person who had tried to kill you?"

"For the first few weeks, I watched the news and I waited. They... talked about it quite a lot on the news. But then they stopped, after about a month, and I realized that no progress was being made. When I asked Cullen about the investigation, he told me that they were doing everything they could... and I knew that meant they'd hit a dead end."

"So you just... thought that was it, then?"

"I've learned over time that it is better to have low expectations than to hold on to foolish hopes."

"Like when you thought your parents would come back for you?"

Her expression darkened, but before she could speak, he continued.

"You were disappointed, yes, but that doesn't mean that you should hold everything in the same standard. Booth is going to solve this case."

"Maybe. But regardless, Booth wasn't allowed near the case when it first opened, and I made sure that he wouldn't be in the future."

"Initially, he wasn't allowed to work on it because of a conflict of interests. Why did you want to make sure he wouldn't be able to contribute at all later on?"

She shrugged, "I just... I didn't want him to ever find out I was... alive."

"But _why?_ Surely you understand better than anyone the position that he's in right now?"

She didn't appear to want to answer, and so he tried a different approach.

"Alright, let me ask you this. Why do you believe that Booth is better off believing you to be dead than alive?"

"Because things are never going to be the same," she answered quickly, barely thinking about her answer.

He frowned. "So you think Booth cares about things staying the same over you being alive? Wouldn't you being... dead... be a rather devastating _change_?"

"If the case isn't solved, though, I will remain in Witness Protection indefinitely. No one, besides you and Cullen and the other few who know the full truth, will be aware that I was alive after the explosion."

"Again, though, I just... I don't see how this could possibly benefit Booth."

She sighed, "Booth has a hard time... letting go of things."

He frowned, trying to figure out what that meant. For a long moment, nothing came to him, and then suddenly it all cleared and his mouth popped open as his eyebrows flew up.

"You _wanted_ him to forget about you?"

She looked away, but nodded.

He shook his head in absolute amazement. "Dr. Brennan..."

"Brennan," she corrected abruptly, her voice harsh—overcompensating for the obvious lump in her throat. She blinked her eyelids furiously, fighting off an impending wave of tears.

"Brennan," he said firmly, emphasizing the word apologetically, "I can't imagine what would push you to want that... but I think what you need to hear from me now is that I don't think that it would be _possible_ for Booth to forget you."

"Maybe not yet," she answered with a shaky voice. "But someday... someday he'll be able t-to forget me and... and move on. And he... he should."

"Booth can no more move on from you than you could have moved on from him. And besides, with this case so close to a conclusion, you must realize that your wish for him to move on doesn't apply any more. He's going to find out the truth."

"I know that," she murmured, shaking her head, "But... it doesn't matter."

He sighed in frustration, wishing he could read minds. It would make his job, as well as his friendships and relationships, so much easier to manage.

"Why, though? Why wouldn't something like that _matter?_"

"Because he _wants_ to move on," she said at last, her arms crossed and her hair hanging down to shield her face.

He couldn't avoid the scoff that slipped out of his mouth. "With all due respect, Brennan, I've seen Booth recently. He doesn't want anything else besides a time machine."

"That would make sense," she said, far too agreeably, her voice holding a tinge of sorrow. "It's reasonable for him to want to avoid my involvement in his life entirely."

Now he _really_ wasn't understanding her logic. Where was she pulling this from? Everything he'd ever seen between the partners had showed the strength of their bond, their friendship... their potential for something more. So where had she gotten this impression that Booth wanted to move on, and that he would be better off if he'd never met her?

"You don't get it," he said, finally finding his words again. "Booth would go back to the day of the explosion and save you, because he can't stand living without you."

She closed her eyes, her expression lancing with an internal agony.

"I don't... I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."

That was something new. He was used to a Brennan that either got defensive or stonewalled him, not one that stated her feelings outright in order to stop him.

But he could work with that... her directness at least told him exactly what she wanted, rather than making him piece it out for himself.

"Understandable. I should probably... get going, anyways. We're still working on the case, and I'm supposed to be following Booth. I'll let the Marshalls know to come get me." He was standing up and retrieving his cell phone from his pocket, but she stopped him by standing up as well, her face now reflecting indecision. He paused, waiting for her to make up her mind about whatever it was.

"I think... I think I would like to see Angela," she murmured at last, her eyes shining with hesitancy.

"That's probably an excellent idea," he said with a warm smile, feeling relieved. At least this was a small level of progress... and besides, he'd never expected that she'd want Booth to be her first interaction. That would be diving in far too fast. He was only a small first step, and Angela was the obvious one to follow behind him.

She was going to have some trouble keeping it from the others, he knew, but he was also confident that the truth was going to be out to everyone in not much time at all.

"I'll let Cullen know; he'll agree to it, I'm sure." His boss knew just as well as he did that this was coming to a close. In fact, he'd probably be just as relieved to find out that she was starting to reach back out. It would make the whole process that much easier after the Hursts were located and arrested.

"Thanks," she said with a firm nod of her head, and then slowly sank back into her seat, picking up her coffee mug as if she had just remembered its existence.

"Would you like to... tell her yourself, or have Cullen inform her before sending her here?"

"I would actually prefer if..." she bit her lip briefly, staring upwards as she tried to think. "If it were... at all possible, I think I'd like if she didn't know, when she... got here. I just... I don't want her to find out from someone else, and I don't want to... tell her on the phone."

"I actually think I can make that work. I'm... I'm very glad that you've decided to tell her. And I have no doubt that she'll be beyond emotions when she sees you."

Brennan didn't look as convinced of that, a flicker of fear coming and going so fast across her face that he almost doubted he'd seen it.

Nonetheless, he made the call to the Marshalls, and then spoke with Cullen as he paced back and forth across her living room, waiting for his ride. He could hear Brennan in the other room, cleaning up the kitchen even though it was already spotless.

When the black SUV finally pulled up the gravel drive, she appeared in the hallway opening, and he smiled tensely at her before closing the distance and wrapping her in a hug that he'd been trying to find a way to work in ever since his arrival. "I'm glad you're safe," he said as he pulled away. "And I really hope to see you again soon."

She nodded, blinking a few times in surprise as he stepped away towards the door.

"Thanks... for coming," she managed, raising a hand in farewell.

He grinned back. "Thanks for being here," he responded, knowing that she probably wouldn't understand just what he meant by it. When the door shut behind him, he could still see her slight smile, barely there, and he held on to the sliver of hope that the image left in him as he climbed into the vehicle and was driven away from the lonely cabin.

**More casework next chapter, and then we will see Ange ;)**

**Feedback makes me happy.**


	20. Active Participation

_Chapter 19- Active Participation_

_May 13__th__, 2011_

Booth had been at the office for most of the morning, after he had gotten an update from Cam and the rest of the team. While he'd have been glad to spend the day following their progress at the lab, he simply couldn't keep away from the more fast-paced atmosphere at the Hoover. At the lab, the details of the truth were being pieced together, but at the FBI, action was being taken towards the present situation.

Weaver was making sure he wasn't allowed to actively participate, but Charlie was giving him regular updates through email.

The busy activity that had swarmed his entire floor, though, had been beneficial on another level. With everyone so occupied, he had taken the time to slip down to the evidence storage area and... let himself in. It had taken him a while to find the spot where her evidence box had come from, but when he did he discovered that Angela and Hodgins had been quite right in there suspicions. A small box now occupied the space, and when he opened it he found several sealed vials of particulates, all labeled neatly. He wasted no time in sliding it into his jacket and sidling out.

He hadn't spent long at the Jeffersonian when he'd dropped it off, but he'd seen that Hodgins was eager to get started with it. For all of their sakes, he hoped that whatever the bug guy managed to pull from those vials ended up being well worth it. He knew that he was taking far too much liberty with Cullen's patience already, and stealing evidence was sure to snap the remainder of the rope he'd been balancing on.

As long as Cullen didn't find out... or he found something that he could use as leverage... he might be able to get away with it.

For the moment, though, the risk didn't bother him much. Not so long as it eventually brought her killer to justice.

It was just after one o'clock that he heard a sudden commotion that pulled him from his computer desk, where he hadn't been doing much of anything anyways. He joined the fray, grabbing a young agent and pulling him aside.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

"We've finally got a trace on Chance Hurst's location, Agent Booth. He was just on the phone with his brother." the young man informed him rapidly. "An apartment in West Virginia—the brother, though, is on the move. We lost the signal on him the moment he hung up his cell."

Weaver was shouting orders, but Booth barely caught a word of it before Cullen appeared and the group began to quiet down.

"Agent Weaver, I want you to head the unit to Everett's last known location. Agent Burns, you'll lead the unit heading to the apartment building. Tread lightly."

Weaver looked peeved at being overridden by the boss, but he quickly returned to organizing the two groups. As he was doing so, Cullen pointed at Booth and motioned for him to join him.

"Yes, sir?" He half-expected to be called out for his visit to the evidence storage locker, so he was surprised at what he got instead.

"I want you to tag along with Burns. Gear up."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't make me regret it," he simply responded gruffly, and then turned and headed back to his own office, looking flustered for some reason. Booth only stayed there for another second before he rushed to join the others. Within minutes, he was in the back of an SUV tearing its way through the middle of DC with sirens blaring.

"Do you think we've finally got the killers?" he heard Agent Barrett ask Agent Parish, and he interjected.

"Yeah, I think we do." They both turned to him in surprise, and Barrett looked embarrassed, clearly having not realized who was sitting directly across from him, and that for him, it wasn't just another case. It was a personal matter.

They were mostly silent after that, for the rest of the hour long ride.

The sirens and lights were all shut off when they reached the right neighborhood and eventually pulled in across the street from the apartment building. He stared out the tinted windows at it and wondered which floor the man they were after lived on. Which one of these windows belonged to him.

"Swift and silent, got it?" Agent Charlie Burns instructed, looking each of them in the eye and lingering on him in particular. "If he's here, we make the arrest nice and smooth, and we find anything incriminating we can in the apartment as per the search warrant Cullen just informed me he got signed for us. Ready? Move!"

The doors of the vehicle flew open, and they streamed out in rows, pouring across the street and gathering in the shadow of the doorway alcove. This building had no doorman, and the security appeared to be incredibly lacking. They entered the building and Charlie silently directed them up the stairs, leading the way to the second floor landing, where he signaled for them to hold back before he entered the hallway and dodged across the corner gap. They all followed a moment later, and didn't travel far at all before stopping at a doorway.

Charlie gave the signal, and a female Agent, Taffe, stepped forward and rapped sharply on the door. "Chance Hurst, this is the FBI! Open the door!"

Silence greeted them. Not even the sound of footsteps running down a fire escape. They waited a long moment, and then Charlie signaled again, and she repeated herself, shouting louder.

When they again got no response, he had her step aside, and two agents took their designated spots on either side of the door. Charlie kicked it open himself, and they all poured in, guns drawn and at the ready.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

The shouts rang out from different rooms, until it was obvious that Chance wasn't there.

"Sir, you're going to want to see this," one of the agents whom Booth wasn't acquainted with said to Charlie, and he followed the both of them to a room in the back of the apartment, where a few other agents were sorting through Hurst's belongings.

With gloved hands, the agent picked up a stack of pictures and held them up so the first one was visible. He didn't seem to question Booth's presence, and neither did Charlie, something he was grateful of.

The picture was of a blonde woman with her back mostly turned, carrying a bag of groceries out of a store. He flipped to the next picture, and this one showed the woman's face more clearly. She was ghostly pale, and her hair fell limp on either side of her face. Clearly, she was blind in one eye.

"What is this?" he asked as a third image of the same woman was shown.

"Someone that our friend Chance was stalking," the agent said regretfully. "I've already snapped some shots of these photographs and sent them back to the techs... hopefully they'll be able to tell us where they were taken, who she is, or both."

"Send them to the Jeffersonian. We have a specialist there."

He nodded, and pulled out his phone, tapping out a message before nodding and re-pocketing it. "I told the techs to forward them over."

"What do we have on where Chance might be?" Charlie questioned, and the agent shrugged apologetically.

"I might be able to help with that," one of the others in the room spoke up. She held up a piece of paper. "He's got a rental car... and I don't think he's been in the apartment long. Plus, if you look, I don't think he's living here alone either."

"Makes sense," Booth commented. "They're sticking together."

Charlie took the paper from her and scanned over it before pulling out his phone and dialing in the number at the top. As he spoke to the man on the other line, Booth's own phone began to ring.

"Booth."

"This is Zach," the voice on the other end informed him. "I've got information."

"Spill," he instructed.

There was a long pause, and he heard someone say loudly, "For God's sake... give me that..." followed by, much more clearly, "Booth, it's Hodgins. I'm putting you on speaker."

A moment later he once again heard Zach, "I was unsuccessful in my endeavor to locate the ultimate cause of the failure in the security cameras of Dr. Brennan's apartment building, and I spent a few minutes web searching to provide any other useful information I could about possible motives, even though I don't really understand most of it."

"I helped him," Hodgins explained tersely. "And if he doesn't just get to the point pretty soon, I'm going to tell you myself."

"I was just about to do so," Zach explained calmly. "I located a 'fan site' dedicated to information about Dr. Brennan's murder."

"The point?" he asked.

Hodgins took control, sensing that this wasn't going to go anywhere otherwise.

"It's a _conspiracy_ site, Booth. One with wacked up ideas about what _really_ happened."

"And this helps me how?"

"I analyzed the particulates you brought me, and I figured out why Cullen didn't want you to have them. Which was right when Zach came to me about the website, and then we called you."

"Thanks for the update. _Why_ did Cullen want to keep the samples from me?"

"This website holds mostly to the belief that Brennan's _alive_, and her death was a conspiracy by the government to cover up a major operation that they needed her help for... that's where it gets fuzzy and really unrealistic, but the _point_ is that these particulates, unlike the ones we were originally provided with, contain skin cells as you would expect from evidence scraped off of human skin. The thing is... these skin cells were collected from a _living _human being."

He frowned, not following. "You're going to have to explain that."

Hodgins sighed. "Booth, these particulates were collected from Brennan while she was still _alive_. Do you have any idea what this might mean?"

"It means that she wasn't dead when they started swabbing her," he snapped quietly, moving away from the other members of the room to avoid being overheard. "All that tells me is that I'd really like to beat up some evidence collectors for getting in the way at the hospital."

"You're not even going to _acknowledge_ that-"

"No, Hodgins. No, I am not. Call me back when you've got something realistic."

He snapped the phone shut, growling irritated curses under his breath, directed at the bug man specifically, before he shoved the device back into his pocket and rejoined the group.

Charlie had just gotten off the phone as well, and was now instructing the bagging of evidence.

"We've caught a break," he informed Booth as he reached him. "The rental company keeps tracking devices in all their cars, in case they're lost or stolen. They've agreed to activate the one in Chance Hurst's vehicle. Under normal circumstances, as the other senior agent, I would request that you stay here and supervise a few agents in the collection of evidence. Given the case we're on, though, I figured it would be best if you came with me."

"Thank you," Booth said sincerely. "I appreciate it."

"Hey, don't mention it. It's half because I like you, and half because I really want to piss off Weaver."

He chuckled slightly. "Nice to know somebody's on my side."

"Most of the office is on your side, actually. Now come on, we've got to get organized and back in those vehicles... I want to be on the road the minute I get the call telling me where that son of a bitch has taken off to."

He nodded in agreement, and was only too pleased to help get them back on track. They left Agent Taffe in charge of the scene with three other agents, and took the remainder with them.

Charlie had just gotten the call telling him that Chance was on the move, heading west on a rural road, when Booth's phone went off again.

He practically growled his name into it, and was greeted by a completely un-intimidated Hodgins.

"Hey, we just got a bunch of pictures here for Ange to look over... but she's not here."

"What do you mean? Where is she?"

"She's over at the Hoover building; Sweets said he needed her for something like... two hours ago. You haven't seen her? I can't get her to pick up her cell."

"No... are you... you know what, what did Sweets say? Can you remember?"

"Just that he needed her help with something. He seemed pretty eager, actually. He said whatever it was might take a few hours... I figured they knew what they were doing. What I want to know is why you don't know where she is."

"Listen, Hodgins, I've got no idea where your wife _or_ Sweets are. Is that the only reason you're calling? Because I'm sort of busy right now."

"What? No, that was just a part of it... I was actually calling to find out what you want us to do with these, without Angela to piece it out."

"Give it to wonder boy genius... he can do anything, can't he?"

"He's been trying ever since we got the email like... five minutes ago."

"Then... I don't know, give it more time. Call me back when you get something, alright?"

"Yeah, I'll do that. And, hey, if you... hear anything about Angie or Sweets, you'll call _me_ right?"

"Sure, I'll let you know," he said impatiently, and then hung up and turned his attention back to the road they were now traveling on. Chance apparently didn't have a huge lead on them, and so they weren't risking the siren. There was no telling what he might do if he realized he was being chased down.

And Booth didn't think he'd be able to handle it if he never got the answers that he so badly needed. After he got an explanation from them, he didn't care what happened. A shoot-out would probably be the best-case scenario, so long as their killer didn't get his hands on any innocent hostages. No matter how much he wanted his revenge for the loss of Brennan, that wasn't going to change his view on the safety of people that weren't even involved.

Brennan wouldn't want that.

Heck, she probably wouldn't even want him to get his own brand of revenge... but between him and her father, it was almost a guarantee that both brothers were going to face a death sentence, trail or not.

And he no longer had even the slightest problem with that.

**A/N: I might update with a bit more spacing starting soon. Probably when we reach Part II. I'm going to run out of chapters, soon, and I don't want to rush straight there and then leave you guys in the dark for a month while I try to fight writer's block. That's a scary thought. I just need a bit more time; when I'm finished with _In the Worst of Times_, I'll have more time to work on this one. **

**Let me know what you thought of this chapter! :)**


	21. Merciless Waves

**A/N: I can't thank you all enough for reading this story and sharing the whole experience with me. I love knowing that so many people are enjoying something I've worked so hard on. So, here's what you've been waiting for :)  
**

_Chapter 20- Merciless Waves_

_May 13__th__, 2011_

A plate of salad sat untouched on her kitchen counter, and she stood beside it, one hand resting on the marble surface and the other hanging loosely at her side as she stared blankly out the window over her kitchen sink.

When she'd talked to Sweets earlier, the idea had come to her completely unbidden, and she'd been overcome with a desire to talk to Angela. Now, though, reflecting on the decision, she was beginning to doubt her reasoning.

It had been a year, after all, and while she had always believed her friendship with Angela to be incredibly strong, she truly didn't know if it could span this distance and still survive. The betrayal was almost too hard for her to comprehend, and she couldn't even begin to fathom what it would have been like to be on Angela's side of the equation, and be the one believing she'd lost someone she'd cared about for _this_ long of a time, only to realize all that pain could have been prevented.

_Should_ have been prevented.

So she wouldn't be upset with Angela in the slightest if her friend wanted to blame her for what she'd been put through. It was her fault, after all. Not for the first week, while she'd been in the coma... but for everything after that. She could have changed all of that, and then they'd all be at such a different point right now.

And yet, through all the guilt, she still held fast to the fears that had brought her here. The reasoning that she hadn't been able to explain to Sweets. It was something that she'd thought she might be able to manage discussing with Ange.

The problem with that, though, was that now she was more afraid of Angela's reaction than she was of actually discussing anything else with her.

What if she wasn't forgiven for what she had done? She wouldn't blame her, she knew that already, but it would still hurt to know she'd lost one of the few meaningful connections in her life that she'd managed to maintain over a long time-span.

Her eyes strayed to the clock. Sweets hadn't given her a specific time when he'd called, but she knew that it must be creeping closer now. It had been over an hour since then, after all, and when he'd called it had been to tell her that Angela was already on her way. She suspected that he'd done that on purpose... to makes sure she couldn't back out.

She appreciated the gesture, that he was trying to help in his own little way, but at the same time she resented him as she always had for thinking he knew what was best. He hadn't been living here for the past year, agonizing over decisions that couldn't be changed and events that were long set in the stones of the past.

But she couldn't hate him for it, she could only remember the past resentment of his actions and carry it forward in her mind. The fact would always remain that she cared about him just as she did about all the others that had been left behind when she'd begun her new life out here.

It was surreal, though, to think that things were starting to close in on her. The past was catching up, and it was getting ready to engulf her like a merciless wave and pull her under to drown beneath its weight.

Maybe she should have asked Sweets to inform Angela, so she'd be aware when she arrived. As it was, Sweets had told her on the phone that Ange believed she was going to meet an important witness in order to do a sketch of someone else that might have been involved.

The Marshalls were bringing her... surely it wouldn't be much longer now.

Her stomach growled slightly, but she pushed away the salad, feeling sick, and made her way back into her living room, collapsing weakly onto her rarely-used couch.

It might have been ten seconds or five minutes later that she heard tires rolling over gravel; she'd lost track of time as she stared up at the wooden beams of her ceiling. Regardless, though, she sat upright immediately, her heart racing and her thoughts spinning out of control, asking dozens of questions that she had no answers to.

With shaking fingers, she pushed aside the window curtain and peered out at the SUV in her driveway. With the tinted windows, she couldn't see Angela, but she knew that her friend was there. What felt like an eternity later, the back door finally opened, and a body climbed out, hidden for a brief moment behind the metal and glass before she stepped out of the way and pushed the door shut behind her.

The artist's head turned towards the house, her eyes scanning over it and lingering on the blooming flowerbeds before she made her way towards the front stairs.

Brennan could barely stand up straight, her legs were shaking so violently. How was she going to be able to do this? What had she been _thinking_ when she'd asked Sweets to set this up for her?

She pulled away from the window and let the curtain fall back into place as Angela got closer, and then she moved to the door, standing off to the side and out of sight as she tried to calm her breathing. It only took Ange seconds to mount the stairs, and then she only hesitated for a short moment before raising a hand and knocking three sharp times, the way she always did.

She was frozen in place, unable to move. If she stayed right where she was, pretended she wasn't here, eventually Angela would go back to the SUV. And then the Marshalls would call Sweets, who would call her, and she would tell him that it had all been a bad idea. An excuse would be created and fed to Ange, who would then be driven back to DC, where she would remain safely ignorant of how unnecessary the pain she'd had inflicted on her for the past twelve months had been.

Another three raps. She could see her friend's silhouette, standing there, her head tilting to the side as she attempted to peer into the dark entrance of the cabin, to see if anyone was coming to the door.

She tried to remember what Sweets had said, about how this was going to happen eventually anyways, and that doing it one-on-one now would be far easier than facing everyone at the same time, with _none_ of them having been aware of the truth beforehand. Angela's support would be key when that finally happened.

So, with trembling fingers, she reached forward and undid the lock, stepping in front of the door as she pulled it open.

For a long moment, Angela's eyes didn't register any form of recognition. Her gaze raked with shock over the scars on her face, and it was obvious that she hadn't immediately made the connection because her mind was so firmly of the belief that her friend was dead.

And then it happened, and it only took a flash of a moment. Barely a split second. Angela's eyes flew wide open and her mouth followed suit. At once, her eyes were a flurry as they scanned every inch of the woman in front of her, focusing mostly on her face before she finally choked out, "Bren?"

Biting her lip and trying to stave back the start of unbidden tears, she nodded several quick jerks before the first trails of liquid slipped loose.

Angela threw herself at her before she'd had a chance to prepare, and they both stumbled inside, Angela's tears outdoing her own.

"Oh God, oh my God..." Ange was choking out as she pulled away at last, hands gripping Brennan's shoulders so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Oh my God, it's... it's _you_. B-but, I don't... I don't..." Words failed her as she shook her head and then threw her arms around her in another bone-crushing hug.

"I've missed you," Brennan finally managed to get out, and Angela gave a slight sob in response.

"I-I think missing you is a bit of an understatement on my end," she stammered at last, once more pulling out of the hug. Her eyes finally paid more attention to the scars covering the left side of Brennan's face, and she frowned slowly. "The... the explosion?" she asked, her words rushed and stumbling.

Brennan reached up to touch the rough side of her face before nodding, her fingers sliding back down and her arm landing once more at her side.

"What _happened?_" Ange asked, shaking her head in disbelief as her eyes continued to scan over her friend as though she couldn't quite grasp the reality of the situation. Brennan was having a hard time with that, as well. She'd been unable to tear her eyes away from Angela, taking in every detail. While she'd seen her on TV that night, it wasn't the same as being face-to-face like this.

"It's... sort of a long story. Do you..." she reached up to brush some hair out of her face, trying to find something to distract her from the challenges of conversing with someone she hadn't spoken with in so long, "I don't know, do you want... coffee or something?"

Angela gave a sort of laugh, a sound that mingled between disbelief and amusement. "Anything at this point," she answered. "I mean... God, I can't even... you're _alive_." Shaking her head again, she hesitated before pulling her into yet another, albeit shorter, embrace.

They made their way into the kitchen, Angela finally taking a moment to look around at the house while Brennan poured them both mugs of the warm liquid. She'd made another pot after Sweets had called, originally intending to drink it herself before she realized that the idea of anything, liquid or solid, made her nauseous.

Luckily, it was still hot.

At her lead, they returned to the living room and settled on to either end of her couch.

"Does Booth know?" was the first thing Angela said.

"No," she answered immediately. "And... you can't tell him."

Angela looked at her like she was crazy, much like Sweets had. "Bren, you... you can't be serious. If you'd seen Booth... if you'd see what he's done to himself since you... since you _died_, you wouldn't be saying that."

"He can't know, Ange. He just... he can't, okay?"

She looked like she wanted to argue, but finally she just sighed and took a long gulp of her coffee. "Can you at least tell me _why_ all of this... happened? I mean, I got the whole Witness Protection thing... but why weren't any of us _told?"_

"I suppose this will probably be easiest... if I just start at the beginning."

Angela nodded agreeably, leaning back into the cushions and sipping more of the coffee.

"I woke up a week after the explosion... a year ago, today, actually. I'd been in a coma after the surgery, and according to Cullen, it was... touch and go."

"Cullen?" Angela demanded, her eyes widening. "Cullen knew this whole time, and he didn't tell Booth?"

"For his own protection. That's why none of you were told... to keep me safe, and to keep all of you safe. For the most part, I didn't have any say in it."

"For the _most_ part?" Angela's inquiries were getting more incredulous, and Brennan knew that it meant her excitement over learning that she was actually alive was beginning to wear off and give way to the very pressing questions of why she'd been subjected to everything of the past year along with Booth and the others.

"I fought with Cullen over it, but I eventually gave up because... I agreed with him."

"How so?"

She looked away, unable to stand the accusation in her friend's eyes.

"I thought it was... the best way to handle the situation."

"Bull," Ange answered. "I'd have preferred being locked up in this house with you, knowing full well that you were alive, than being _safe_ back in DC."

She felt fresh tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She had no idea how to explain herself. She couldn't even come up with a good place to start, let alone get herself to believe that her reasoning would have any effect on Angela's fully understandable anger with her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, finally raising her eyes to meet her friend's. "I'm so sorry."

Angela's expression softened at once, and then was replaced with horror. "Oh God, sweetie, I didn't mean to upset you..." she reached out a hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. "I just..." she sniffled slightly herself, grabbing a tissue from the box on the coffee table. "This is just so much t-to take in at once. I'm just... I'm just so glad you're _alive_, and here I am... talking like I don't... like I don't care..."

"I should have told you, though," Brennan choked out. "I... I shouldn't have let you... let you keep thinking that I was..." she trailed off on a fresh sob, cursing softly under her breath as she tried to brush away the tears.

They both sat in silence for a moment, the quiet broken every few seconds by the rustling of tissues or the occasional sniffle.

"I thought I was going to be here forever," Brennan finally whispered, and Angela's eyes snapped over to meet hers, confusion shining in them. "I thought... I thought that the case was never going to be solved, and... and I was never going to get to go back."

At first, she took Angela's response of silence to be a negative sign, but gradually she managed to read her face, remembering the old cues she used to go off of, back when things had been normal at the Jeffersonian. She was waiting for Brennan to continue, and so she gave a slight nod, crumpling up the tissue she'd been holding, and started again.

"I... I figured that, since you had all been told I was dead while I was still in a coma, it would be best not to... not to change that if you were never going to see me again anyways. And... eventually I knew that you would all move on with your lives."

"You never thought that... we would get the case? Because... you know that we would have fought for justice no matter how long it took."

"I actually..." she took a shaky breath, "I actually requested that you not be allowed to work on the case."

The stunned silence that followed was decidedly more negative than the last one.

"Bren... _why?"_

"Because... for one, I thought it would be too difficult. For Booth, I mean. And... if it was ever solved, then..." she closed her eyes, and forced out the next words, anticipating the reaction that was sure to follow, "Then I would have to face all of you, after you were lied to."

Of all the responses she'd been expecting, from the harshest accusation of coward down to the lowest one of disappointment, what Angela did next wasn't even on the scale.

She pulled her into another hug, an awkward sideways one, but a hug regardless.

"Sweetie... it doesn't matter," she whispered at last, releasing her. "I... I am hurt, a little, that I was never told. But that doesn't change the fact that I love you. The fact that _all_ of us love you. But surely you know that the case is almost closed, and that everyone is going to find out. Why can't you tell Booth, when he's going to find out anyways?"

"Because he's not going to be as forgiving as you, Ange. I mean... look at the way I reacted when he... when he came back from the dead."

"Yeah, and after about two days you were back to being the best crime-solving team any of us had ever seen, as well as the closest 'friends.' Heck, angry Booth—and he won't be angry, I promise you—is far better than the ridiculously depressed Booth we've been living with for the past year."

She winced at that. "Has he... shown _any_ signs of..."

"No," Ange answered before she could even finish her question. "No, sweetie, he hasn't moved on in the slightest."

The wording struck her. She'd never told Ange about that night outside the Hoover building, when she'd turned Booth down after he'd asked about giving them a shot. In that following week, she'd been tempted to, many times. Angela was the person she went to when her life fell apart, or when she had 'guy problems.' And while the problem was decidedly not her usual brand of relationship trouble, she had been sure Ange would be only too pleased to help her.

Maybe that was what the problem had been, though. She'd been worried that, like the nagging voice in the back of her mind that was furious with her for turning him down, Ange would criticize her, and blame her for always running away from something great.

Because wasn't that what she always did, run away from things? That was certainly what she'd done that night, and what good had come from it? She'd hurt him... probably broke his heart, if the expression on his face had been any indication.

The only thing that had come out of it had been the proof she needed to know that, no matter how painful, how _horrible_, what she'd chosen had been... she'd been right all along.

If she could hurt him so badly before they even tried for a relationship, the damage that she would surely inflict later on would be exponentially worse. She couldn't imagine putting herself through that, and she _certainly_ couldn't even consider putting _him_ through it.

He deserved so much better.

And that was why when he'd told her that he was going to move on... she'd known that it was for the best.

How was she going to face him now? She was already sure that he would resent her for the deception, but on top of that he would undoubtedly feel that he still had some sort of... obligation to her. Because that was Booth, through and through.

"I knew," she murmured shakily, "That if... if he knew I was alive, but could never see me, then he wouldn't move on. And... I couldn't do that to him." On her last words, her voice wavered and then broke. She blinked her eyes rapidly, and then brushed her hair out of her face and raised her one-eyed gaze to meet her friend's.

"You were... trying to make it easier for him to... move on?"

Hesitantly, she nodded, trying to gauge the other woman's reaction but having a hard time reading the expression on her face.

"Oh, sweetie..." Ange murmured at last, slowly shaking her head. "I can't believe... you really... you really thought he could ever find someone else? Bren, he _never_ could have."

She was shaking her head long before Angela finished.

"You never heard him," she whispered. "You didn't... you didn't hear him say it."

"But he told me about it," Ange said softly, her dark eyes trying to draw understanding. "He told me about... that night after you both told Sweets about your first case."

"I just... I thought that after all of that... he'd be better off if he didn't have to know I was out here. If he knew... he'd drive himself crazy trying to solve the case to get me out of Witness Protection, and then, if nothing ever came from it... he'd never be able to move on. I know him... I know he wouldn't."

"So you thought the better alternative was to let him continue believing you were dead," Ange said, realization finally dawning across her face. "So that he could stand a chance of... getting past it."

"I wanted... I wanted him to be able to move on. Because... that's what he wanted, and I couldn't take it from him, like... like I took everything else."

"Bren, do you realize how much you _gave _to him? I mean... do you think he doesn't feel the way you felt when he was dead for those horrible two weeks? He's been living through hell, because he _loves_ you, and he can't let you go. If he was going to move on... it would have to be years and years from now, and he'd have to... I don't know, move halfway across the country."

"Isn't that what he was planning to do, though?" Angela frowned in confusion, and she clarified, "On the news... I heard that he was supposedly thinking about leaving the FBI. That... that had to have meant something."

"Yeah, that he didn't think he was doing any good anymore. In all honesty, I really think he was planning to just lock himself up in his apartment and stay there until the world ended."

That statement was met with silence, as Brennan hung her head, trying not to let the unwanted images that Angela's words had conjured take over her thoughts.

"Sweetie," Angela addressed her softly, "I remember those two weeks. I remember them _very_ well. I was there with you, right up until you started getting angry with me for caring too much. I was there with Booth, too, but he didn't make it easy for me. I did what I could for him, though, and I'm telling you that the absolute best way to free him from his suffering right now, would be to tell him that you're alive. It's the _only_ thing that's going to fix him. He _needs_ you... and you need him."

She had no rebuttal to that, and so she turned her head away sharply, staring fixedly out the window and fighting to maintain her balance on the narrow precipice that her emotional state had become.

"Bren," the single word managed to get her attention focused back on Angela again, and then the artist asked, "Why did you turn him down... when he asked you to try for a relationship?"

An ache in her heart made her not want to answer the question, but the words tumbled out regardless of her wishes.

"I was scared, Ange. I was... I was so scared of... I don't know... _losing_ him, I guess... And of not being _enough_... not _deserving_ him. He's the heart person, he's the one that... that cares and understands people. I knew that I would just end up hurting him... and I was right."

"What are you talking about?"

She stared back incredulously for a long moment, "Didn't he tell you? I... I turned him down, and he was... so upset... we didn't even _get_ anywhere and I managed to hurt him more than I'd ever done... in all the years of our partnership."

"But you just told me you were _scared_. Bren, Booth knows that you can't just... dive into things. He understands that."

She gave a humorless laugh and whispered, "Exactly."

The blank stare she got back told her that she would need to elaborate, and she sighed, not really liking that idea very much.

"He told me I was right," she murmured. It had long been something that haunted her, especially with so much time to herself. She was well aware that it was selfish to be so focused on a few words he'd said to her, when he was living through a world that she had suffered through herself and had vowed never to face again. That didn't stop the thoughts from coming, though. "When I said I didn't have his kind of open heart, and... that I couldn't change. And he said he was going to move on, and... find someone that could still love him in fifty years."

"Oh God, Bren," Angela choked out at last.

"I don't know what we would have done if... if my apartment had never been blown up. I wanted m-more than anything to... to be able to keep working with him... but I knew it wouldn't have lasted. Things just..." she shook her head, "Things weren't the _same_. And then I woke up in the hospital, and I wanted to make sure all of you never had to go through what we'd faced with Booth's death... but after a few weeks I realized that Booth would be better off in the long run without me. Maybe not short term, but in the end he'd be... he'd be happy. And... I really wanted that, Ange. I did."

"I don't understand," Ange finally said, after a prolonged silence. Brennan felt her heart plummet and her stomach clench uncomfortably. She shouldn't have expected anyone to agree with her reasoning, but it still hurt. "Bren," the artist finally managed, still shaking her head in something akin to wonder, "How on earth can you believe you don't have as open of a heart as Booth does, after everything you just said?"

It took her several long seconds before she began to piece together what her friend had just said, and realize what she was trying to claim.

"Wait," she stammered, "You... what?"

Angela sighed. "At least you're still the same old you," she said with a slightly rueful smile. "You still can't see that you care so much about Booth, about all of us, that you have a stronger heart than most everyone. Sweetie, you care _too_ much sometimes, and you try so goddamn hard that it _amazes _me. But in this one case, you're wrong. Booth never intended to move on... he didn't even think he could after he told you it. He was... he was hoping that you'd change your mind."

"I don't... I don't understand what that means."

"It means that Booth regrets that night every bit as much as you do. And he'd do anything for a second chance. I really think that... he blames himself for what happened to you."

Guilt spun its way around her heart, and she squeezed out a sharp breath. She'd guessed at that, knowing Booth the way she did, but until now she'd tried to keep an open mind, convincing herself, for the most part, that he would be okay with enough time.

Clearly she'd been wrong.

But then, she'd known that as well. She just hadn't wanted to believe it.

Her phone rang suddenly, and she frowned. That could only be Cullen or Sweets, so something must have happened. Maybe they'd located Everett or Chance?

She turned away from Angela, and pulled it from its cradle.

"Hello?" she answered cautiously.

"Dr. Brennan," Cullen's voice greeted her, his words rushed, "We have a bit of a... problem. Your cover may be blown."

"What?" she choked out, the word a pitch higher than her usual tone.

"I've got teams out chasing down leads, and Everett Hurst's last known location is on a street in _your_ town. Sweets told me that Angela was there with you; are the Marshalls stationed out front?"

"I... I think so," she stammered, heading straight to the window and ignoring the alarmed look that was rapidly spreading across Angela's features. She pulled aside the shades, and then let them fall back into place, moving back to her seat. "Yes, they're in the driveway. You think Everett is coming _here_?"

"Unfortunately, it seems that the Hursts are aware that you're alive. Stay put; I have agents hunting down Everett right now. I've sent another team out after the others, to protect you. Be prepared for their arrival."

Too stunned to say much, she managed a simple, "I will be."

"Call me if anything changes," he added, and then disconnected the line.

She set the phone down, her hand shaking slightly.

"What's going on?" Ange asked, her voice hushed with fear in a way that Brennan had never heard from her.

She just shook her head, though, and then turned and hurried down her hallway, running into her room and tearing through the bottom drawer of her bureau until she found the gun that she'd been allowed after her extreme protests.

Angela shrank back in further alarm when she reappeared with it ready in her hand.

"Bren?" she asked, a bit more demandingly this time.

Before she could answer, though, two sharp shots rang out from the front of the house, followed by the inescapable sound of shattering glass.

**My unofficial betas threatened to lock me in a dark room with access solely to this story on a computer while they stood guard after they read this chapter. Yeah. And they had to wait much longer than just two days for the next one... so please don't kill me. They survived, and I promise you will as well :D**

**So... share your thoughts?**


	22. Phone Calls

**A/N: I sort of forgot to mention the fact that there was a chapter in between the last and the one that follows the cliffhanger. So... you have another two days before you get your answers. Oops. **

**Please don't kill me-as I told me betas, if you do that... I can't give you more chapters, now can I? **

**Timeline: Brennan's timeline is somewhat ahead of Booth's at this point. So what is happening at that cabin hasn't happened yet as far as Booth goes at the beginning of this chapter. This is the catch-up chapter that will put everyone at the same place in time. **

_Chapter 21- Phone Calls_

_May 13__th__, 2010_

Deputy Director Cullen's footsteps pounded over the thin carpeting in his office as he paced from wall to wall, parallel to his desk. Things were starting to come apart.

He'd known that it would come to an end, eventually. He'd been sure to prepare for that day, but now that it seemed to have so suddenly arrived... he couldn't seem to get a grasp on it. For one, his best agent was going to hate him very much for keeping him in the dark about his partner.

That was, if she survived the next few hours.

It wasn't evident to most people, with his prickly manner and barking of orders, but Cullen was a man who worried. He always had been, but after Amy had been diagnosed, he'd only gotten worse. And since he had lost her, he only saw possibilities of danger at every turn.

Being the head of so many agents meant making decisions, and not all of those were guaranteed to end well. He'd had more than his fair share of unwanted phone calls, telling him that an agent wouldn't be returning to their desk the next day. And he had attended more funerals than he cared to remember... unfortunately almost all of them far more real than the two he had now attended for these partners he had learned to trust and rely on.

He would be lying if he claimed he didn't show a greater interest in them than any of his other partnered agents. It might have had to do with her spunky attitude and unfailing ability to be right, or maybe Booth's skill at his job even before she came along. Or, it could be just as Sweets had once said to him... that it was hard not to get caught up in the possibilities when watching them. They'd often made him wonder about what it meant to love somebody, and it had probably helped him a great deal, whether he'd realized it then or not, when he was trying to cope with Amy's death and keep his marriage from falling apart.

It had been a difficult choice to agree with Sweets about not informing any of the Jeffersonian team when Booth's death had been faked in order to cross off one of the many on their wanted list. It had been even more of a challenge to make the decision himself about keeping everyone out of the loop about hers.

In the end, though, it had come down to the only thing he was semi-comfortable with. At least if she was alive, then he might be able to keep his section of the Bureau intact. They had the highest solve rate, after all... they were models to every other agent that walked through the doors. If he had gambled with her life in order to spare his agent the agony of losing her... and then it had failed him and either one or both of them had died in the process... he didn't want to think of the repercussions, or the guilt, that would have followed him around for the rest of his life.

There was just something about them that made him want to handle everything with the utmost care and assurance. Now, though, his stack of cards was starting to tumble apart. Maybe he'd made the wrong choice all that time ago, he thought worriedly, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes without losing a stride of his pacing.

He was well-aware that the team he'd sent to the safe house wouldn't reach it before Everett Hurst did. The time differences could never be compensated for, no matter how fast they drove to get there.

He wasn't sure whether or not to be grateful that Angela was there or not. With her presence came the added protection of the Marshalls, since Brennan had been adamant about not needing them—but with her there, she was in just as great of danger as Brennan was, if not more. Brennan at least had a gun; Angela could only get in the way... or be used as a threat against Brennan if the worst were to happen and Everett were to make it past the Marshalls somehow.

It wasn't likely... but he wouldn't put it past someone who could blow up a woman's apartment building as some sort of convoluted revenge scheme.

There was a very specific reason why he'd sent Booth after Chance rather than after Everett. At that point, he'd still been holding on to the belief that this might boil over to nothing, and Everett could be caught up to and brought back in handcuffs with no involvement of Brennan at all. He wasn't Sweets, but he knew enough about the situation to know that for Booth, it would be best if he were brought _slowly_ to the idea that Brennan wasn't actually dead. Throwing him straight into a heated situation _with her_ would be disastrous.

Now, though, he was starting to think that he should have done exactly what he'd thought was a bad idea. If there was anyone that would be capable of protecting Brennan, it would be her partner. Weaver had his confidence as far as solving the case with diplomacy and proper paperwork... but that was as far is it went. In most cases, personal investment clouded judgment, but in this one—Booth's judgment would have been far stronger and more trustworthy.

Agent Burns had called and updated him only ten minutes ago about Chance Hurst's movements. With both brothers on the move, his confidence had quickly dwindled.

As he turned again upon reaching the left wall, his phone rang once more.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

Hodgins was usually very capable of keeping himself calm. It was pressure, usually, that was his undoing. When it was just him, he could get something done with relative ease. When he had people pressing for answers, and lives hanging in the balance over whether or not he was right, that was when he started to lose it.

Angela was the one that kept him in check, that spoke slowly and calmly and made things clear again, so he could think through the haze and get the right solution.

Which was why, right now, he was fighting off several stages of a panic attack.

"I'm sure she's fine," Cam reassured again, but her voice didn't convey nearly as much confidence as it had an hour ago.

"Why the _hell_ isn't her phone on?" he hissed through clenched teeth, throwing his own cell phone furiously at the floor. The hard plastic casing merely bounced and skittered to a stop at the corner of a desk, and he sighed and buried his head in his hands once more.

"Perhaps it is out of range," Zach suggested, his voice infuriatingly cool and collected. Jack had missed the presence of his friend for these past few years, had thought it would be great to work beside him once more, just like old times. It was comments like that, though, that had the ability to snap what little remained of his control.

"That is _really_ not helping," he shot out, barely resisting the urge to sock him one. At least that might shut him up. The very last thing he needed to consider was that Ange might not even be nearby anymore. What if something had _happened?_ Brennan's apartment had been blown to smithereens, what was to say that the same people wouldn't be capable of taking his wife?

The possibilities sent a cold shiver down his spine.

"Maybe we should track her cell phone?" Cam asked hesitantly, and he sighed.

"We already _tried_ that."

"But it wouldn't hurt to try it again. Maybe... she's moved and we can pick up a signal now."

"If I can't get her phone to _ring_, then I'm not going to be able to _track_ it."

Cam let out a breathy sigh. "Fine. You know what, I'm going to call Cullen. I want _all of you_ to get back to work on finding the buildings in this picture," she added firmly, pointing to the image on the large screen, one of a blonde woman with her back turned, leaving what appeared to be a small town grocery store.

Hodgins stayed put, but Zach re-seated himself in front of the computer and started tapping at the keys, forming rectangles around key features and running configurations on them. A moment later a map took up the larger portion of the screen and started isolating areas, zooming in gradually on West Virginia.

"You got something?" he asked in surprise, momentarily distracted as he stood and moved to stand next to Zach's chair, watching as areas of the map changed colors.

"Going off of the style of the building to the right of the grocery, as well as the design of the parking lot and the street sign—" He pointed at the picture that was now in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, indicating each item as he mentioned it, "—I've narrowed it down to this sector of West Virginia..." The map continued to close in until they could distinguish the tops of buildings, and the road networks.

Wendell paged Cam, who trotted into the room on her loud high heels, still on her cell with Cullen.

"Find something for me?" she asked with raised eyebrows, holding the phone away from her ear.

Zach stuck his arm out, pointing at the screen as if it were the only explanation necessary. She turned to Hodgins instead, and he sighed.

"The pictures were taken in Franklin, West Virginia."

"Franklin, West Virginia," Cam relayed to Cullen, and then frowned before pulling the phone away from her face and looking at the screen. Sighing to herself, she snapped it shut and turned her attention back to the team. "He told me that Angela was fine, and he'll get in touch with her to have her call you back as soon as he can."

"Where _is_ she?" he demanded.

"That part he wouldn't tell me," Cam said, frowning as though she agreed that it was odd, if not outright concerning. "He seemed in a rush to get rid of me, to be honest."

"Well that's just _great_," he muttered, throwing his hands up in the air and pacing away from the rest of the group.

A moment later his phone, still lying on the floor, started to ring.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"Come on, come on..." Booth hissed under his breath, listening to the line ringing.

"Ange?" the voice that answered asked hopefully, sounding out of breath.

"Sorry, Hodgins, it's Booth. Before you even ask, I haven't heard from your wife. Listen, I need you to do something for me, and do it as fast as you can."

"What?" the scientist asked impatiently.

"I want to know who the woman in those pictures is. Zoom in or whatever you need to do, but try to get an ID. Whoever she is, the Hursts are after her. Charlie just got a call from Cullen saying the pictures were taken in Franklin. We are _in_ Franklin right now, chasing them."

"Booth, I can't run facial recognition. I... I don't know how to work the software, how to pick the... details or whatever... I tried to pick up some of it from Angie, but she's awfully fast, and she does it mostly on her own..."

"I get it, I get it. Just... do what you can, okay?"

"We'll try," he said, but he didn't sound very convincing.

Booth snapped his phone shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We might not need your squints, Booth," Agent Kurt informed him from the passenger's seat. "Just got a call from Weaver; he says they've caught up to Everett's last known location, and apparently Cullen's sent them to an address. We are to follow them, keeping a tail on Chase if we can."

"An address?"

"Yeah, out in the middle of nowhere, too, although that was pretty easy to guess from the picture."

"How close are they behind Everett?" he asked, although he was really wondering why it always seemed like Cullen knew more than he was ever saying to any of them.

"A half hour at least," Kurt replied with a wince.

"Who is this woman they're after? Did Cullen happen to share that detail?"

"Either he doesn't know, or he didn't think it was relevant. We are to get to the address and prevent any injuries to the occupants while apprehending the brothers. By the time we get there, though, all the action will probably be over."

He nodded, not feeling at all mollified by that detail. He wanted to be there, and be a part of what happened. He _needed_ to see it unfold himself, not hear about it after the fact like he was a mere bystander who didn't _matter_.

"How far are we from the address?" he asked.

"Forty minutes, roughly. We're not too far from Weaver's team; they got caught up trying to find witnesses that saw his car."

"And where's Chance?"

"The tracker says he's taking a different course than the one Weaver's on, so we're following that one... he's about fifteen minutes in front of us. We must have barely missed him earlier."

He nodded thoughtfully, and then leaned back in his seat, taking each bump in the road as it came and staring out the window at the passing trees. His muscles were ticking and his heart was racing.

This was the conclusion he'd been waiting for, but it felt like... something was _off _about it. Like it had come too soon. Things were moving far more quickly than he'd been expecting, _anticipating,_ for all this time.

What if something went wrong? What if this didn't end the way he'd been hoping for, and closure really was an impossible dream that he'd just been clinging to in order to have _something?_

His thoughts were almost out of control by the time the forest walls started closing in on the road. They were getting close, and for the first time he acknowledged that fact. It wouldn't be long, now, before they arrived at this house.

"How are we on time?" he inquired, breaking the silence that had long taken over the vehicle.

"We're ahead of Weaver, but not by much. Chance took a faster route, catching up on Everett. Five more minutes, tops."

As he finished, the vehicle lurched and hit rough gravel, grinding over the new surface for a moment before the driver pressed hard on the gas and rocketed them back up to full speed. The SUV continued to lurch and rock, and the tinted windows became blocked of their views by clouds of dust.

They were just rounding another corner when his cell phone began to ring.

**I'm slowly beginning to realize just how mean I am. This story is exceptionally cruel with it's cliffhangers, and I'm one of those people that hates cliffhangers myself. What a hypocrite, right? Two more days, though, and you shall see what is currently happening at that cabin. **

**Feedback? **


	23. Regretful Agony

**A/N: I know, I know, I'm cutting it awfully close with this update being 'on time.' Yikes. I graduated yesterday, and today was hectic with the family all coming over and so much going on. I nearly forgot to update completely, and that would have been terribly mean of me. **

**So, here's your chapter!**

_Chapter 22- Regretful Agony_

_May 13__th__, 2011_

For a moment, Brennan couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move.

And then everything happened in a blur, and she found herself with her back against the wall peering out the window from the side, her gun held up and her finger itching on the trigger, the safety long since taken care of.

"Bren?" Angela's voice was frantic now, and she was still sitting on the couch, her back stiff and her eyes huge.

"Ange, I need you to move out of line from the windows. Now!"

Her friend jumped slightly when she shouted, but quickly moved to comply with her demand. With her safe, for the moment at least, she turned her attention back to the window.

Outside, glass shards twinkled in the growing darkness that was taking over her forest home. The SUV in the driveway no longer held its tinted windows... and inside it, she could make out the slumped form that had been one of the Marshalls. The other one lay on the ground next to his open car door, unmoving.

She swore under her breath, and her heart started racing at twice its previous canter.

Behind the SUV was parked a silver car. She didn't know the make or model, and she didn't care to find out.

"Move," she hissed to Angela, pulling away from the window and dropping low to keep herself out of sight. Her friend, though, remained frozen in place until she grabbed her arm and began dragging her forcibly down the hallway.

A car door slammed, and she picked up the pace, practically shoving Angela into her bedroom and following behind, shutting the door swiftly behind her. For a brief moment, she actually considered barricading the door, but she quickly gave in to the fear that had been creeping at her since the moment Cullen's words had hit her.

They couldn't stay in the house, and she knew it.

She ran to the window, leaving a still dazed and terrified Angela to stand by the door, and yanked it open. Thrusting her head out, she judged the distance to the ground to be reasonable enough; the cabin wasn't built on a perfectly straight patch of land, and the back wall was significantly taller than the front one. But the drop was manageable, and that was good enough for her.

Never had she wished more for a back door, but there wasn't much she could do about that now.

She waved frantically to Ange, who gradually seemed to realize what she was doing and stumbled forward.

"Listen to me," she hissed, listening intently for any sign that the shooter was approaching the house yet. "Once we're out this window, I want you to run, okay? I'll be right behind you, but no matter _what_, you need to keep running. Don't stick to paths, just _run_."

She doubted Ange was capable of taking in much at all, in her current state of terror, but she did manage to nod, eyeing the window with trepidation. That would have to be good enough.

She reapplied the safety on her gun and tucked it in the back of her jeans, grabbing both of the artist's arms and turning her around, helping her onto the window sill and then leaning out after her to keep a grip on her arms and lower her down easily. She followed quickly, making sure her friend was out of the way before lithely dropping herself down and landing lightly in a crouch.

She gave Ange a push on the back to get her started, and then ran alongside her, keeping slightly behind with her gun now back in hand. Every few seconds she glanced back, until they were lost in the shadows of the trees. Even then, though, she knew they weren't safe.

In her mind, she tried to map out the town, trying to remember from just the few drives she'd taken through it whether or not there were any neighborhoods nearby, and in which direction she should be taking them.

She cursed herself for not paying attention more, and urged Ange to keep going as the trees thickened and the ground became rougher and started to slope sharply upwards. Pebbles rained down behind them, and she found herself helping Ange and gripping trees to keep her balance.

When the ground leveled out, it became clear that running was no longer an option. Ange wasn't in any shape to continue, and the past year in solitude had had a negative effect on Brennan's overall athleticism.

"We can walk," she assured, keeping her voice low despite the distance they'd put between themselves and the house already. "But we have to keep moving, no matter what. And... you have to promise me, Ange, that if anything happens to me, or if they catch up... you'll run."

"No," Ange said, shaking her head rapidly, "No, Bren, that's crazy!" It was the first sentence she'd managed since the shots had been fired, and while it wasn't an answer she particularly liked, it was one she was going to have to work with. At least her friend was starting to gain a clear enough head to communicate, though. Her eyes were still wide with fear, but Brennan imagined that her own were probably no better.

It was very likely that she wouldn't be surviving today. But if that had to happen, the least she could do was ensure that Angela made it through, and got back to Hodgins and the team safe and sound. She would be missed; Brennan knew that only too well.

"I'm already dead," she insisted, "I've been dead for a year. I will not let _you_ die because of me. I have enough on my conscience already, and you... you just can't stick around for me, alright? I won't let you."

"And if you _really_ think I'm going to be willing to lose you after I _just _ found out you were actually alive... then you've really lost it. I'm staying with you, no matter what happens. And if I have to go with you this time, then so be it. But I'm not living with _your_ death on my conscience either."

She sighed, seeing that this wasn't going to go anywhere.

"Fine, then let's just make sure we _both_ live," she said shortly, turning to take in the forest around them. "The cabin is back that way. We shouldn't go in a straight line; we don't want to make it easy for them. Come on, let's go this way."

They started walking again, this time at an angle to their original trajectory.

"Do you think... do you think the Marshalls that brought me here are still alive?" Angela asked tentatively a short while later.

She sighed, and then gave a slight shake of her head. "While... while I don't like to believe that either Everett or Chance would be capable of such a thing, given our current situation... I highly doubt that they're alive."

"Bren... what happened, with you and the Hursts?"

She closed her eyes, but didn't slow her pace. If anything, when she opened them again, she had gained a few steps on her friend.

"It was the Carltons," she managed finally, barely getting the words out. "I'm sorry I never told you, but I just..." she shook her head again, breathing out shakily, "I didn't like talking about it."

"You don't have to apologize, sweetie," Ange said softly, briefly wrapping an arm around her shoulders to give her a reassuring squeeze. "I just... right now, I can't wrap my head around why they would... why they would be _after_ you."

If she was going to die within the next few hours, and worse, if Angela was going to go with her, then her friend deserved an explanation, at the very least.

"I left them behind," she said, continuing to walk at the same brisk gait. "I aged out of the system, and I left them behind in that... in that hellhole."

Angela took in a sharp breath, and she squeezed her own eyes shut, knowing that her friend was judging her. How could she not be?

"Bren, what... what happened to you? In... in that house?"

It wasn't a question she'd been expecting at all, and she frowned before finally giving in. She'd told Sweets; Angela deserved to know just as much, if not more, than he did.

She forced the words to flow out steadily, as calmly as she could manage. "I'm sure Booth has read all the reports by now, but I'll tell you anyways. I was... abused. Physically as well as... sexually. And when I got out of the system, I went to college and moved on with my life."

She left out the fact that she'd gone back to the house. It didn't matter... not when it had done so little. Not when she had failed and had _still_ chosen to save herself, even _after_ she'd gotten proof that the Hursts were going to face the same fate that she had during her six months there.

"You didn't have another choice," Angela insisted, and for the life of her, Brennan couldn't understand why it seemed like her friend was defending her actions. "You... you suffered through something that I can't even _imagine_, and they... they probably did too. But they have no right to blame you, anymore than you would have had the right to blame _them_."

"I could have found a way to do more, though," she argued back, still fighting to keep her voice low. Every since they'd started talking, she'd been darting her eyes past every tree and around ever shadow, and half-expecting to hear a gun shot as her last sound... or worse, her second-to-last one. She glanced at Angela again, and moved herself a little closer, dropping into a position by her friend's side that would allow the maximum protection. That was only if the Hursts came from the angle of the house, though, and using her body as a shield for Angela on one side wasn't enough to alleviate the gnawing of fear in her stomach.

She could barely survive through the guilt of knowing what her death had done to Booth; she didn't even want to think about how she could go on living if she became responsible for her best friend's death on top of everything else. Not to mention the idea of a world where Angela didn't exist was not one she was prepared to consider. At least while she had been isolated from her friends she had known they were alive and well. It was another thing entirely if she didn't see Angela because she was dead, rather than because of a distance or a security issue.

"You value human life more than anything," Ange pointed out. "And whatever convoluted revenge they've thought up... it's _wrong_. I don't care how much you... blame yourself, or whatever it is your doing. They had no right to try and take you away from us, just because some monsters hurt all of you when you were teenagers. If anything, they should have gone after the Carltons."

"They're in prison," she responded instantly. "I... kept track of them, after I was out of their home. I had always hoped to hear that they had been arrested, but I guess I was more... horrified, than anything else, when it actually happened."

Ange eyed her quizzically, and she sighed and continued.

"There was another girl, Sandra Reed. Fifteen years old. When the Hursts left the system, they took her in next. Apparently, Joseph had evolved since... since me." She took a shaky breath, and then whispered, "He rented her out to his friends."

"Oh my God," Angela's response came back hushed with horror. _That could have been you_, her eyes were saying as they swept over Brennan's face. It was a thought she had often considered herself, and even thinking of it now sent a shiver up her spine. Joseph had been bad enough on his own, drunk and in a foul mood. His friends, who had often come over to drink and yell at football games on television with him, hadn't seemed much better. She had gotten off far luckier than Sandra Reed.

And she'd followed the fate of the girl, too, as best as she could. She had been twenty-one herself at the time, and had yet to get over many of the demons from her past. She'd sought solace with Michael Stires, and hadn't seen until far too late what a poor judgment of character she had when it came to men.

It turned out, though, that Sandra had killed herself only a few months later. A fact that was hushed up, but one that she had found through her sheer persistence.

The scariest part, though, beyond the sorrow she felt for the girl, was that she knew, just _knew_, that if the same thing had happened to her, for the entirety of a year that it had lasted for Sandra, she probably would have done the same thing. There had been times when she'd even considered it, but she had always known she couldn't go through with it. It had always been more like a wish, that the next time she passed out under his fists, she wouldn't wake up to face the next round of torture and humiliation.

Maybe that feeling of desperation had never been left behind for Everett and Chance the way it had been for her. Maybe they hadn't gotten her lucky breaks, and had never found solid careers or friends the way that she had.

She had attempted to keep track of them just as she had of the Carltons and Sandra, but she had always hit brick walls no matter how deeply she dug. At some point along the line, she had simply given up.

But she had never forgotten.

Right now, though, her empathy towards the two boys that she had essentially considered her younger brothers for six long months was on hold, replaced by fear. They could be clinically insane, damaged by their childhoods. They could be suffering from any number of things that she had no idea about. But none of that changed the fact that she was in the middle of the woods, with an unarmed woman by her side, being hunted down like prey for the slaughter.

At the moment, the only thing that truly mattered was survival.

Everything else would come later.

She had no idea how long they'd been walking when she heard the first rustle that didn't come from their own feet. She froze at once, grabbing Angela's arm and pulling her to a halt as well. She pressed her finger to her lips, and then stealthily pulled her friend over to a tree and pressed her back to it. She positioned herself in front of her, drawing the gun around and peering over it to keep an eye on the direction that the sound had come from.

Not so much as a shadow moved, only the leaves in the faint rustle of wind. Angela's breath was coming in rapid gasps, and her own was rushed; her heart pounding rapidly. It had been over a year since she'd dealt with any criminals, or fought anyone off. She hadn't even fired a gun in ages... what if she missed completely should she actually have to shoot?

"Temperance!" a voice called, in a sing-song, taunting tone. "Come out, come out, wherever you are..."

Angela gave a strangled choking sound, and Brennan shot her a sharp look, willing her to stay as silent as possible. Her friend clapped a hand over her mouth, beginning to shake slightly as she clutched her other arm around herself.

"I know you're out here... you can't run away from us forever. Although that was a _clever_ little stunt you played, fooling everyone into thinking you were _dead_."

"Are you sure she went this way?" another, younger, voice inquired. Chance, which meant the first one was definitely Everett. She still couldn't see them, and was having a hard time pinpointing what direction they were coming from. The rustling, though, was getting louder.

"Shut up," Everett snapped. "And for God's sake, don't drop that knife again."

At his last words, her stomach plummeted, and her eyes darted to meet Angela's, which were now even wider than before, clouded with terror.

Finally she picked up movement, but decided that this was far more of a negative than a positive. If only they had moved on... gone the opposite direction.

Her mind raced back to all the other times she'd been in grave danger. Kenton, being buried alive, getting stabbed in the arm, and then the many times she'd been shot at or even hit. And through each and every one, she'd managed to survive, but almost all of them had involved Booth in some way, shape, or form.

This time, he wasn't coming. He thought she was dead, and that was her fault... and now she was likely going to pay the price for it.

They were in the middle of the woods... how long would it take someone to find their bodies? Surely there would be a search, when the Marshalls didn't come back and their bodies were found in her driveway, but it could be days before they located her.

She attempted to fight off the images, but she couldn't keep all of them at bay. She knew exactly what a body decomposing in a forest for even a day would look like.

She thought back to her laptop, and the internet access that she'd sworn not to use for anything but communication with Cullen or Gina, or for research on the latest book. How easy would it have been to send him an email, and tell him where she was? How easy would it have been to turn around this entire situation?

Booth could have come to see her... maybe even on a regular basis. In her current position behind a tree, she gave little thought to the security risks that might have been presented. If it was all going to end with her dying anyways, _why_ hadn't she risked it all so much sooner? Just to see him one more time, in person, to hear his voice saying her name, to feel his arms around her... God, she missed him. In that single moment more than any other time during the past year.

She _needed _him.

And now she might never get the chance to do anything about it.

Taking a shaky breath, she pulled back and pressed her face to the side of her friend's, so that her mouth lined up closely with Angela's ear.

"I want you to stay here," she hissed, "Out of sight. Do _not_ move, no matter what. I'm going to draw them away, and _then_ I want you to get back to the cabin. Head _straight_ in that direction," she pointed to their left. That should take you out either right to the cabin, or at least to the road. Call for help. Do you understand?"

Angela shook her head, and she opened her mouth to argue, but Brennan cut her off.

"This is the _best_ thing you can do. I'm going to do everything I possibly can to save myself, but I _cannot_ have you with me. It's the only way we're both going to survive. _Please_, just do what I ask."

After a long pause in which Angela's eyes welled with tears, she dug her teeth into her lower lip and gave a nod.

"Thank you," Brennan whispered. "I'm going first... wait until they're both following me, and then be as quiet as you can so they don't turn back. I'm counting on you."

The brothers would have no way of knowing that Angela was there... they would probably have assumed the Marshalls were parked out front for protection only. They would have no clue that a second person was in the woods, and no reason to not follow Brennan when she made her move.

She wrapped her friend in an awkward one-armed hug, and whispered, "I love you, Ange. Don't forget that, no matter how this turns out. And... tell Booth the same, if it comes down to it."

Another shaky nod, and then she turned her gaze away from her friend's. Holding the gun pointing down in a position she had long ago mastered, she put herself into a partial crouch and moved away, darting behind another tree, and then another, being careful to only make as much noise as would be needed for them to pick up on her. Too much, and they would surely suspect that something was off.

She wished she could have told her friend more... or even had the time to write some sort of note to Booth, but that would have been impossible. And she regretted it with every fiber of her being, feeling the agony cutting into her heart.

As she crouched behind a tree a good thirty yards from Angela, she peered out and for the first time caught a glimpse of the two men. They were much older, obviously, than they had been the last time she'd seen them. But she recognized them just the same. Everett had changed the most, his features hardened and his eyes tiny under now bushy eyebrows.

It took her a moment, but she suddenly realized why he looked more familiar than she'd been expecting. She didn't place him as Everett right off... but as her doorman.

Things were starting to fall into place, but that didn't matter. Not at the moment.

She moved again, getting three more trees away, before she dared look back. They were both methodically moving in the direction she had gone, Everett's face set in a grim smile. She didn't take long to study them, darting out again.

And that was when the rustle of their footsteps turned into the pounding of boots against hard ground. She bolted, running for all she was worth, dodging in and out of trees and praying that Angela would heed her words, and do as she had asked.

**That probably counts as another cliffie, doesn't it? *wince* Sorry. Let me know what you think? I promise to update at a reasonable hour for the next one, haha. **


	24. Tracking Death

**A/N:**** Alright. Alright. So, I understand that you guys hate cliffies. I hate them as well. And I'd like you all to please keep in mind that I wrote this story quite a while back. Meaning I didn't exactly take into account the suffering of my future readers. *wince* Which is why... this chapter ends in a cliffie as well. *hides***

**...Please don't kill me. **_  
_

_Chapter 23- Tracking Death_

_May 13__th__, 2011_

"Booth," he answered his phone, and for a long moment heard nothing but static.

"It's Hodgins," a voice finally said, "Booth, listen..." The static returned in full force, and when it calmed he caught the end of what the scientist had been saying, "The woods. You have to... guns... Angela and Bre..."

"I can't hear you," he forced out, and a moment later the line went dead altogether. When he looked at the screen, he could see that he had no bars. They were well out of the range of cell service, it seemed.

Whatever Hodgins had wanted to tell him, though, it was clearly important. He felt his jaw start ticking as he clenched his hands into fists and waited as they turned yet another bend in the bumpy road, and finally came into view of some sort of structure.

The SUV stopped short, and he was out the door ahead of the rest, ignoring any orders that might have been shouted. It was a cabin, with the front door wide open.

"Shit," he swore as he took in the reason that his SUV had come to such a hasty stop. The driveway in front of them was lined with three vehicles. The first was another dark SUV, and on the ground beside it was a body.

The other two must have belonged to the Hurst brothers, who had arrived one after the other.

"We've got Marshalls down," Charlie was saying into his radio. Booth ignored anything else he might have had to say, though, hurrying towards the house and feeling distinctly like something terrible had happened here.

"Booth!" a voice shouted after him, but he ignored it, pushing his way through the door, which was hanging off its hinges. His gun at the ready, he dodged around doorways until he was certain that no one was in the house. Hodgins' words floated back to him, and specifically the word 'woods.'

In what was clearly the home owner's bedroom, he founded an open window and thrust his head out, staring down the drop and making out the distinct markings of footfalls in the dirt. Two sets. As his eyes followed them, he saw that two other sets of footprints then joined the original two a few yards away.

Four people? He frowned in confusion, and turned away from the window as he heard the other agents pouring through the rooms, shouting their 'clear's loudly as they went.

He suddenly had a gun pointed at him by Charlie before it was lowered with a sigh.

"Booth, you can't just take off on us. Do you _want_ to be shot?"

He shrugged, and then took a moment to take in his surroundings a little better. The room he was in contained a queen sized bed with a plain white comforter. There were a few shelves, decorated with what appeared to be artifacts. He leaned closer to one, curiosity taking over as he tried to place where he'd seen it before, because he knew he recognized it, for some reason.

But what he came up with simply didn't make sense.

He went past Charlie, ignoring the man's complaints and protests, and re-entered the main room. An old television, a couch that looked like it was never used, and a computer chair next to a lonely laptop computer.

Ignoring any protocol, he pulled up the top of the computer and tapped a few keys to get the screen to light up.

From what he could see, it didn't appear that the user had very many interests. There was a link to a writing program, and one to an email account. Nothing else. He glanced behind him to ensure he wasn't being closely watched, and then hit the button to open the writing program.

On the side bar he could see the three most recently opened documents. All of them bore the titles of the latest novels in the Kathy Reichs series.

"Booth!" Charlie's voice snapped irritably. He snapped the laptop shut again, turning to face the agent in charge. "We're setting up teams to scout the woods. Unless you want to be left to guard the house, you better tag along."

He nodded quickly, and followed the stream of agents that were making their way back out the front door. Something seemed very off about the house, about all of this, to be honest... but that didn't stop him from wanting to be a part of the action here.

He waited impatiently while Charlie did the organizing and gave specific instructions. He ignored most of them, waiting for the order to go into the woods. After all, he had absolutely no intention of sticking around once they were in those trees.

From what he had understood from Hodgins, there was something going on here that had to do with Angela. And if that was the case, then it was likely she was out in the woods with the mystery woman who lived here as well as two homicidal brothers that were most likely armed.

He wasted no time in getting 'lost' once they were on their way. All it took was for him to lag at the back of the group, and then surreptitiously drift away and start off on his own route.

Booth was no stranger to tracking, and while the other agents had training as well, he was confident he could do a better job of it. And besides, he wasn't interested in tracking the brothers... not anymore. He was interested in tracking the first two sets of prints. He skirted the edge of the woods until he came back to the start, where they had all entered the woods, and then started following every trace he came across.

The rest of the agents were spread out, sweeping methodically to cover as much ground as possible. He was following a single line, though, and he intended to continue doing so until it brought him to his eventual goal.

He lost the larger sets of prints quickly; they had branched off in another direction, not having seen the marks that he did, obviously. He continued to trace, following the path up a steep hill and then further through the trees, until the tracks eventually turned and took a new route. He crept more quietly now, the deeper in he got, and eventually found a patch behind a tree that was patted down from footsteps moving continuously in the same area. They branched off two separate ways, and for a long moment he wasn't sure which set to follow. He had no idea of which one belonged to Angela, or of what had caused them to split up. Not, at least, until he saw that the set that continued further into the woods was met with the other two that he hadn't seen rejoining them until that moment.

Without a second thought, he turned to follow them. It didn't matter which woman it was that had gone this way; what mattered was that she had been followed... and that not long thereafter, all three sets of footprints became much clearer, the toe digging deep and the heel, at places, barely visible.

They were all running.

A gun shot ringing through the mildly chilly air made him break into a run as well, following the sound now rather than any markings. He barely slowed down in time when he realized how close he had gotten to the people he was chasing.

A small clearing showed the lengthening shadows of three people. Two males were facing towards him, but had obviously not noticed his presence among the trees just yet. The third figure was a dark-haired woman standing tall with her back to him.

At first glance, his stomach plummeted and he firmly believed her to be Angela.

But on closer observation, he realized that wasn't the case. This woman's hair was shorter, and a lighter color. That, and she was holding a gun pointed at the larger of the two men, who he assumed must be Everett. It was difficult to distinguish anything in the impending darkness that had only gotten worse since they'd arrived at the cabin. It wouldn't be long before night took over.

"See, I told you that you wouldn't be able to get away," Everett taunted, grinning calmly and keeping his gun aimed firmly at the woman. "All of this time you had us fooled... and yet here we all are, once again. And there's no way we're going to do the job halfway this time."

"You will be caught, whether or not I die," the woman's voice argued back, her tone filled with fury but barely masking fear. He recognized it, but he couldn't place from where exactly. A part of him wanted to leap right into the situation and take charge, but the logical part told him that it would be unwise. He needed to wait until the right moment, when he could get both men disarmed at once and prevent any injuries to the hostage. If it wasn't for her, though, he wouldn't be hesitating in the slightest.

"Oh don't flatter yourself. Everyone thinks you're already dead. After we take care of you, they'll never find out the full truth. Will they, Chance?"

"No, they won't," the brother agreed with a quick nod of agreement.

It was beyond obvious who was in charge between the two of them.

"The FBI already knows who you are. They know what you look like, they know your names, and they know about your pasts. What I don't get, though, is _why_. Why do you want me dead?"

"Because you don't _deserve_ to live," Everett snapped back, his tone radiating hatred and his eyes wild. "Not after what you did to us. Not after how you _ruined our lives_."

"I had no choice!" she shouted back, and it was then, with those four words, that he placed her voice. And he almost fell over in shock. "If I had stuck around, where would we _all_ be? What would we have made of ourselves?"

"You promised!" Everett roared. "You _swore_ you would protect us, and then you _left!"_

"I didn't _want_ to!" she shouted back, tears clogging her voice. "Do you think I would willingly let those things happen to you? Do you think that I... that I didn't _care?_"

He edged around the clearing, desperately trying not to stumble or make any noise but having a great deal of trouble with it. This wasn't possible. It _couldn't_ be.

But when he got far enough around, he could see the side of her face, and he could see that it was her. Her blue eye glistening with tears, her hair the same beautiful auburn as it had always been.

Never had he wanted more to intervene in a situation, but suddenly he was terrified of doing so. If he stepped out now, he would draw all the attention. And then Everett would have the perfect opening to fire.

He couldn't risk that... couldn't risk this perfect image being destroyed. Even if he was dreaming, or hallucinating... he couldn't let anything happen to her.

"You took a _bribe_," Everett sneered. "You turned your back on us like we were garbage. _You were garbage!_ You were just like us! You're _still_ just like us! Do you think anyone cares about _you?_ Do you think anyone will even remember who you are in say... five years? Ten? You're nobody!"

She hung her head, and he felt his heart wrenching in his chest.

God, she was alive. She was _alive_, and all he could feel was a horrible pain in every fiber of him, reminding him of just what it had felt like back when they'd been working together whenever he saw her vulnerable and weak. She was just the same, just the same as she always had been.

And he wanted more than anything in the world to wrap his arms around her and convince her, just as he had always wanted to do, that she was loved more than anyone else in the world could possibly be.

Except, of course, for the fact that he was fairly certain he was dreaming. The more he thought of it, the more convinced he became. He often dreamt that she was alive, after all. Rarely, though, did she live long. Most of the time, he got to her too late, and watched her fade before his eyes. There had been one time, though, where he had rescued her, and had spent several hours with her as though nothing had changed. Until, of course, he'd woken up and reality had crashed back down.

Regardless of the pain that would come when reality caught up this time, though, he wanted this. He wanted to see her, and talk to her, and feel like she was really with him. So he stayed hidden in the shadows, and waited for the moment to come when he could pull her to safety with the least risk.

He didn't want to wake up early.

As he'd been thinking, though, Chance had moved his position closer to her, and she was hesitating, her gun unsure of which target to focus on. Everett laughed, a short, harsh barking sound.

"You can't kill both of us, Tempe. You shoot me, I shoot you and then Chance here slits your pretty little throat." As if to emphasize his point, he lowered the trajectory of his own gun so that it was aimed distinctly at her abdomen. "You aren't going to enjoy this," he hissed.

She couldn't keep away a slight shiver, and the gun continued to tremble in her grasp. He had never known her to be afraid in any situation where she was armed and dangerous, but clearly this was a different place than she was used to being. She was terrified.

"I don't know what you want from me," she finally managed, her voice trembling. "I'll do anything to help you. I have money... I can give you whatever you need..."

"We don't _want_ your money!" Everett screamed, the gun waving erratically. "You and your fancy career and your thick wallet... you just don't _get_ it!"

"None of that matters!" she practically shouted back, tears thickening her voice. "I don't _care_ about my money! I care about... about my _life!_"

"Should have thought about that a little sooner, huh?" he said, tilting his head casually as he undid the safety on his gun. She took a step back, her eyes darting towards Chance, who was now only feet away with his knife held towards her. "Drop the gun," Everett ordered.

She shook her head frantically, and he laughed again.

"Drop it, or I let you bleed out nice and slow."

"You'll do that anyway," she snapped, her last vestiges of anger escaping, temporarily overpowering the fear.

"Maybe. But either way, if you do what I say, things will be much better for you. Now, drop the gun, or Chance throws that sharp little knife through your shoulder."

Her eyes darted again, and then her arm quivered and lowered, and she dropped the weapon.

"Excellent. See, I knew you could be compliant. Chance?"

The younger brother swept in quickly, scooping up the gun and moving to stand behind her with the knife tip pressed into the delicate flesh of her throat.

Everett was grinning, practically giddy, as he stepped closer and put his face only inches from hers.

"I bet you barely remember how it feels to be helpless. I bet you forgot all about those years, because you got a few _doctorates_ and you met some new _friends_."

"I _never_ forgot," she ground out through clenched teeth.

"Ah, see, you _say_ that... but it doesn't mean I _believe_ you."

He turned his back to her, the simple action an obvious taunt, and then began to pace back and forth.

"I've been thinking about this day for a _very_ long time. Of course I was rather surprised to learn that you survived... but at the same time, it was almost _exhilarating_. See, I liked the idea of you burning to death in that expensive apartment of yours. But it almost seemed too quick, you know?" From his pocket, he pulled out a bottle and popped open the top, watching her reaction with glee. "I bet you're wondering what this is, aren't you?" He stepped closer, and shoved the opening under her nose until she recoiled, choking slightly.

Crouching down, he set the bottle at his feet, out of reach of her legs so she stood no chance of kicking it over, and reached back into his pocket to withdraw a lighter.

His intent became glaringly obvious, and Booth barely resisted the urge to run forward and start firing.

"Please," Brennan whispered, just loud enough for him to hear from his position among the trees. "Please, don't do this."

He gave no response other than to douse her legs with the gasoline, splashing the rest of the liquid on every part of her he could. She began to silently sob, her shoulders shaking.

Chance had stepped away when the gasoline was pulled out, but he kept the trigger of her own gun pressed against her temple, and she remained frozen in place.

But she wasn't going to stay that way.

Booth could read her as well as he had been able to back when she was alive, and real. She was going to fight, and very shortly. When she did, he was going to be ready to come straight to her aid.

It didn't take long.

The moment her body tensed, just before she swung her leg out to trip up Chance, he moved forward, finger ready on the trigger.

His first shot was for Chance. It was more on instinct than any sort of plan. While _Everett_ was in charge, while _Everett_ had the lighter... Chance was the one closest to him, and the one with the gun pressed directly to her head. As her leg connected with Chance's, he jarred to the side just as the bullet from Booth's gun tore into his shoulder. He screamed out in pain, collapsing at once onto the rocky ground.

Brennan gave no indication of having noticed Booth's presence, completing her kick as though the sound of the gunshot had gone straight over her head. Perhaps it had—she might have easily assumed that Chance's gun had gone off and shot past her when she'd kicked him. Either way, she dove for the gun and came up with it, aiming it at the first moving object, which she had undoubtedly expected to be Everett.

Their eyes met for just a split second, and shock registered on her face just as surely as it did on his own. Because in that moment, she had turned fully towards him, and he saw that her face was covered in deep scars that tore through her beautiful complexion.

Then the crack of a second gunshot broke the stunning silence, and the last thing he heard was a dead woman's voice screaming his name.

**And so ends Part I. **

**Tell me what you are thinking of the story so far :) There are still two more parts to go!**


	25. Charred Canvas

**A/N: Wow. The responses to Part I were just... amazing. Thank you guys so much. Here's hoping you will enjoy the rest of this story just as much :)**_**  
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_**Part II: Dreams**_

_Scars remind us of where we've been. They don't have to dictate where we're going.  
~David Rossi (Criminal Minds)_

_Chapter 24- Charred Canvas_

_May 15__th__, 2011_

The first thing he was aware of was that it was very bright. Weirdly so. His eyes fluttered, but immediately squeezed tightly shut again, synapses in his brain firing brightly and blinding him as spots fluttered behind his eyelids.

He would have muttered an 'ow' or at least groaned, but his vocal cords, as well as his lips, didn't appear to be functioning. He felt like he was strapped down with iron restraints. Struggling to collect his thoughts, he focused on what he _could_ feel, as well as hear.

There was a hand clutching his. Now that he'd realized it, he also became aware of the pain associated with the grip. Nails were practically digging into his skin, and he was pretty sure his blood flow was getting cut off. He tried to move his hand, to make whatever it was let go of him, but he couldn't seem to do that either.

A light beeping sound finally registered, and he knew at once where he was. Hospital bed.

It wasn't like he wasn't used to it by now, but for once, he could remember exactly why he was here. Usually, it took longer... usually he had a hard time remembering the events that had landed him here.

Not this time, though. This time, he remembered the gunshot as if it had just happened. And he remembered the scream, too... except the scream couldn't have been real. But then, if the scream was imagined, how was the bullet real?

He pushed the thought away, trying again to unsuccessfully move any body part. All he managed to do, though, was part his eyelids again, and this time he let them adjust slowly, blinking until he could make out the mottled ceiling over his head.

His neck didn't want to cooperate when he tried to turn and see who was sitting beside him. He could tell there was someone there, both because of the vice-like grip on his hand, and because he could make out their silhouette from the corner of his eye.

It was probably Angela, though, and for a moment his emotions battled. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or horribly disappointed. He had gotten as used to Brennan's death as he could, but to have the possibility of another future dangled in front of him was agonizing. At the same time, Angela's presence meant she was safe. That was a more vague memory in his head... but he knew that she had been in some sort of danger.

Since he couldn't change the past, it was probably best to just be relieved that his living friend was _still_ living.

She probably would have been proud of how rational that was, he thought.

"Booth?"

He closed his eyes, trying to decide if he had imagined that, too. Because it sounded distinctly like Brennan, not Angela. Maybe he'd hit his head? He recalled the time, a few years back, when he had seen people that were either dead or inaccessible to him, and had full conversations that had often been very enlightening. The fact that it had been caused by a brain tumor didn't take away his hope for it to be what was happening now, though. Not even slightly. He'd gladly take a fresh tumor if it meant talking to her whenever he wanted to.

"Booth!" her voice called again, and the grip on his hand disappeared, getting swapped out for a seize of his shoulder and a frantic shake. "Booth, can you hear me? Booth!"

He let his eyes fall open again, prepared to be disappointed, but was met with a face he'd not expected to see at all.

It was Brennan, but it was the Brennan from the woods. Not the Brennan he'd have expected of a hallucination. She looked... wounded. He never would have wished such damage upon a hallucination of her... he'd have wanted her to look just the same. Clearly, this was a guilt-inducing figment of his imagination, meant to emphasize just how badly he'd failed her by letting her go to her apartment that night to be met with a bomb.

But it was her, regardless, and he was filled at once with an overwhelming sense of joy.

"Bones?" he asked, half-expecting her to disappear. Heck, he hadn't even expected to be able to speak, but the word came out only somewhat coarsely, and she had clearly heard him, because her eyes lit up with relief.

"Oh, thank God," she whispered, burying her face in her hands for a second before pushing her hair back and reaching forward to take his hand again. She held it more lightly this time, but the pressure was a constant, like she didn't dare let go anymore than he did.

"Am I dead?" he questioned, taking in the hospital room briefly. No one else was present, and the heart monitor was beeping repetitively in the background, but that didn't mean anything.

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head back and forth as if the very notion was terrifying.

He sighed and let his head fall back. Even if this version of her blamed him, even if she hated him, he would have been happy to know that there was indeed a heaven waiting with her right there at its gates. It wasn't that he doubted heaven, it was just that... sometimes he wondered if he deserved to see her again.

"You had us all terrified, though," she was saying. "It was... it was touch and go, and then you wouldn't wake up... God, it was just like after your surgery three years ago. I was... I was so scared I wouldn't get to tell you, or well... show you, I guess, but... but you're _awake_ now."

"Maybe," he said, tilting his head to the side.

She frowned, and then realization dawned on her face.

"Booth," she breathed out slowly, reaching her second hand towards him before hesitating and finally letting it fall back by her side self-consciously. "I'm alive," she whispered. "This... this is _not_ a dream. I was never dead."

He was already shaking his head, but she didn't let him even begin to speak, overriding him quickly.

"I was in Witness Protection. Booth... that cabin? The one you raided? That was... that was where I was living. And... and I'm... I'm so sorry I never told you, never... never made sure you _knew_, but... there was so much happening, so much... he told me..." she was shaking now, fighting to control her emotions, and that was when it really sank in.

She wasn't a hallucination.

He was suddenly gripping her hand so tightly that he was probably hurting her, but he didn't care. And then he reached up his other hand, fighting with the IV line, and touched the side of her face, the one that was still smooth and pristine. Her skin felt soft and warm, and while she stiffened as though uncomfortable with the contact, a blush also rose up in her cheeks, and she diverted her gaze.

"You... you're telling me that you..?"

"I am alive," she repeated, her words firm and offering no room for argument.

"But..." he shook his head, not understanding. How was that even possible?

"I... I can't explain," she murmured at last, breaking the silence that had settled after he had trailed off in confusion. "I just... I can't. Not right now. But... but I'm so sorry. So... so unbelievably sorry. And... I know that you probably don't believe me, or you don't care, or you just... just want _answers_, but I don't know... I don't know how to give them, and I don't know what to even say to you... and I just..."

He gave her hand another squeeze, and she shut up instantly, her gaze meeting his. That was when it registered with him that one of her eyes was cloudy... sightless. But he didn't focus on it, shaking it off as another thing he could think about later, among the millions of others.

"You're alive?" he asked once more, and she managed a small smile and nodded. He let his head fall back on the pillow, letting that concept wash over him.

She was _alive_. Alive, and sitting next to him. Holding his _hand_.

"Where are the others?" It was a ridiculous question, one that should have had no relevance, but one that was suddenly of the utmost importance.

He needed a little more proof than just her word, when she could still just be a figment of his imagination. If he let his emotions take complete control, and it all turned out to have been concocted by his own twisted sense of imagination, he didn't think he'd ever recover from the repeated loss of her.

"Angela and the rest of the team are out in the waiting room... they all know I'm alive, now, as well."

"Bones," he started, having a hard time with just the one word. He'd barely used it at all in the past year, and it felt stranger than anything to be addressing someone with it again. The feeling left him almost giddy, and terrified him at the same time. Because he still wasn't sure if he trusted what he was seeing. "I missed you."

Her eyes welled up with tears almost instantly, something that he was both alarmed and shocked by, and she just nodded before managing to choke out, "I missed you, too."

At that moment, the door opened, and Brennan turned her head to see who it was just as he tilted his to peer past her.

Angela's hand flew up to her mouth, "Oh!" she gasped, turning and calling, "He's awake!"

At once a flock of people swept into the room, at the forefront Cam, Hodgins, and of course Angela. In the following chaos of questions and relieved sentiments, he didn't see her stand up. Didn't see her head to the door, pausing only briefly before she ducked out. In fact, no one noticed, as caught up as they were.

It was only when a flustered nurse bustled in and shooed all of them out that he realized she was gone, and shock washed over him. The nurse made no notion of seeing his distress, though, muttering to herself about hospital room capacity and noise control as she injected something into his IV line.

"You need to rest," she said firmly, patting his shoulder briskly as he started to fade out. He was gone long before the door shut again.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

When he next became aware of his surroundings, there was no hand clutching his.

"Hey, G-man," Angela's soft voice greeted him. She was smiling warmly when he turned to meet her eyes, but he felt no sense of comfort, looking around at once for the one person he wanted to see most. "You've been out for a while... they're not taking any risks with you straining yourself. And no surprise, really," she added in a half mutter as she reached forward to push his shoulder back against the pillow. "Stop trying to get up. You're going to pull out your stitches."

He flushed, whether with anger or something else he had no idea. But he knew that he wanted out of here, and quick. It felt like the room was suffocating him.

"You know what, I'll go get Bren. Maybe that will calm you down."

"Bones?" he asked, blinking and barely hoping to believe he'd heard her correctly.

She frowned, half out of her seat, and then settled back into it and turned herself to fully face him again. "Yes, Brennan." She reached forward, squeezing his hand gently. "Do you remember?"

"She was in the woods," he said, his voice wavering with insecurity. But the moment she nodded he felt the wave of relief he'd been waiting for wash over him. He was right... none of that had been fabricated in his head.

"Brennan's alive," she ascertained for him, as if she had figured out that those were the words he needed to hear the most.

She let him process it for a long time, not speaking in the following silence, until he formulated a question.

"What were you doing, at that cabin?"

Clearly, she hadn't been expecting to be asked such a thing, because her eyes flew wide and she stammered for a moment before attempting to put together a sentence.

"Sweets came to... get me at the lab. Told me that he had something important for me to do... there was a... witness and I was going to do a sketch for them. Only, when I got there, it was actually... it was actually _Brennan_."

"And then... Everett and Chance showed up?"

"A while later, yes. She got this call from Cullen, saying that he thought she'd been compromised or something... I'm not really sure, she hasn't said much of anything to me or anyone else since we got the hospital. I'm not even really sure what happened in the woods after we split up."

"Cullen?" he asked, his instinctive first question overriding, for the moment, his desire to know _why_ they had split up in the woods to begin with.

"I'm not even going to go there," Ange responded firmly, practically pursing her lips together. "You can deal with him yourself... I already ran into him once, and I doubt he'll be allowing me anywhere near his office for a while. I gave him a very large chunk of my opinion on his handling of things."

He wanted to go further into it, but a more pressing detail was bothering him. "Where's Bones right now?"

"She's been sitting by your bedside for two days... I finally convinced her to leave and at least go down to the cafeteria to get a coffee. I sent Hodgins with her, to make sure she actually took her time. She's stressed enough as it is."

"So... you're telling me that Cullen made her stay quiet about the... the fact that she was alive?"

"Partially. Booth, I can't really talk about it. It's not... it's not about me. It's something for the two of you to address. And... preferably not right away. I understand that you're probably confused. Hell, I was pretty upset myself when I found out, and the rest of the team weren't much better... but Brennan's been through more than I think she's willing to talk about at the moment. Don't push her too much."

He really didn't know what to say to that. He was still having a hard time fully comprehending that the past year hadn't been real, and he had no idea yet how he felt about that. Pain and joy seemed to be mingling on a plane that he couldn't quite attune to.

The one thing that he was aware of, though, was that suddenly, there was a future where there previously had been just a charred canvas with no hope of repair.

**Hey look, no cliffhanger! As always, please let me know what you thought. Just a heads up: now I will begin posting at a slower rate. I apologize ahead of time, but it's a necessary evil. **


	26. Stray Stares

**A/N: A slight warning for language in this chapter, although it's only one instance. And I think Hodgins was completely justified with it. **_  
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_Chapter 25- Stray Stares_

_May 15__th__, 2011_

"Dr. Brennan?" her head snapped up and slowly her eye focused in on Hodgins', who was watching her with obvious concern. She stopped bouncing her leg up and down and removed her hand, which had been tapping rapidly, from the surface of the grimy cafeteria table.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I'm just... anxious to return to Booth's room."

"That's completely understandable," he said with a nod. "But I think it misses the point of why Angela sent you to get coffee."

"If she thinks that a warm, caffeinated beverage is going to make me stop worrying... then she is wrong."

"Obviously," he conceded, raising his hands in a motion of open surrender. "But that's not the point I'm trying to make. Just... try to see this from her perspective for a moment."

She frowned, confused, and he leaned forward and continued calmly.

"Angie's been trying to cope with... losing you... for over a year now. And while she's been trying to do _that_, she's also been trying to protect Booth. Now she's in a bit of a hard place, because her loyalty has always been to you... but she's had to adjust over the past year to a world _without _you. And that's not something that doesn't take into account _your fault_ in the whole mess."

Ever since she had reunited with the team outside Booth's hospital room, she'd had a suspicion that Hodgins might be harboring more negative feelings than the rest of them. She'd been expecting to be met with some anger, but to face it from only one member, and so soon after her reappearance, wasn't something she could wrap her mind around.

But she was starting to figure it out.

"You haven't told anyone yet why you didn't call, have you?" he questioned, and it wasn't a light _conversation-like_ way to address the topic. It was far more accusatory.

She looked away. It was something she'd been struggling with... how to explain herself to everyone. She'd thought about it while she was still hidden away, but not nearly as much as she now realized she should have. Back amongst them all now, she'd had two full days to figure out what to tell them. And yet, she'd remained silent.

That partially hinged on Booth's status, of course, but it also had to do with her reluctance to even admit to herself her reasoning. She'd already told Sweets more than she probably should have, and the same went for Angela.

Now she didn't know what she was going to say to make anyone understand, without destroying herself in the process. Because there was no way she could outright tell Booth why she hadn't wanted him to know. It was foolish, and it made assumptions about his feelings towards her, the ones that they had silently—but mutually—agreed to never speak about again following the events of that night outside the Hoover building.

And besides, with the truth revealed, everything had changed. She needed to give him time to adjust to this new reality before she decided how to tell him about everything. There were parts she didn't want to ever speak about, and those included her reasoning... but somehow she knew that avoiding all of it would be impossible. She would have to come up with some sort of explanation eventually, or she'd have worse problems on her hands.

They deserved to have a solid reason, too. All of them... after what she'd put them through.

Angela seemed much more furious with Cullen than she did with Brennan, though, and she was willing to let that play in her favor for a while. She couldn't deny that she wasn't frustrated with the man as well... even if she had chosen to agree with him in the long run. He _was_ the start of everything, though, and the one who had convinced her to go along with it all.

"Angela and I got married the week before you died, you know," he said suddenly, breaking the silence.

She knew he was being blunt on purpose, but she did her best to address him as openly as she could. He was one of the closest friends she had ever had, after all, and he deserved far better than what she'd given him in return.

"I know... Angela told me. I've been meaning to congratulate you, but I haven't really... had the opening. I'm... I'm very glad that she has you."

He nodded, accepting her answer, but the slight relax in her posture following it was immediately erased by his next words.

"She spent the entire week after you died crying. Couldn't sleep at night, and when she finally managed, she had nightmares. All the time. And then, to top it off, Booth was practically impossible to find, let alone console. It was two days after it happened, and she made me drive her to your apartment building, because he wasn't anywhere else."

"And she found him there, digging through the rubble," Brennan murmured, averting her gaze. She could practically feel his eyes burning into her head, but she managed to avoid looking up to meet them.

"I don't suppose she told you that?"

"Sweets did," she said softly.

He made a slight sound in the back of his throat, one that she couldn't quite distinguish the exact meaning of, but then he shook his head and sighed. Her eyes were back on him by this time, waiting with uncertainty to see what he would have to say.

"Right. Because Sweets was the first one you called."

"Cullen sent him," she responded instantly. "I didn't... I didn't want to see _anyone_..." she added, regretting the words almost instantly. His eyes flashed, but he made no comment on that specific detail, moving on.

"Your funeral was when reality really set in, I think. Because, you see, up until that point I'm pretty sure Angie was still clinging to the belief you were alive. They hadn't let Booth see your body, and I'd catch her every now and then saying something that wasn't right... phrasing things like you were still alive and not catching herself. Probably an after-effect from Booth's funeral, in my opinion. But then, of course, you didn't show up and everyone was the same level of _miserable_ all the time... and we stopped working with the FBI, stopped seeing Booth, stopped working murder cases. Most of the interns moved on. Sweets took off to New York after the investigation hit a standstill. And amidst all of that... your latest novel came out."

She cringed. He was the first person to bring that up, but it shouldn't have shocked her. Hodgins was remarkably observant.

"Booth never read it, you know. Angela tried, but she couldn't get through the first chapter. I'm probably the only one on the team that actually read all of them. And you know what really gets me?"

She'd expected it to be rhetorical, but he was looking at her with determined expectation, and she froze for a second in surprise before shaking her head.

"What _really_ gets me is that I didn't _figure it out_ and put Angie out of her _pain_ that much sooner."

She bit her lower lip, fighting off a wave of nausea from her sudden surge of guilt. It had been building up ever since she'd first faced the entire group of them, but now it was threatening to burst over the dam walls she'd been trying to hold up.

"Dr. B., you dying really fucked up everyone. And I would really like to know _why_ you didn't think that it was more important than _anything_ else that we be told you were alive."

She squeezed her eyes shut, biting down on her lip harder than ever and shaking her head frantically back and forth. When she finally bit down the lump in her throat enough, she choked out, "I can't, Hodgins. I... I can't."

For the first time, when she met his eyes she saw them soften into something akin to sympathy. She hadn't been expecting it, and it took her completely off-guard.

"I know you care," he murmured. "I'm not trying to say you don't... I'm just trying to understand. Because you more than _anyone_ know what it's like to lose the people you love the most. Which is why I know you wouldn't do this to us without a very good reason."

When she again shook her head, apology written all over her face, he gave just one quick nod.

"When you're ready, then," he said, reaching across the table and placing his hand on top of hers as he met her eyes seriously.

"I _will_ tell you. All of you," she agreed with a nod, and that seemed to satisfy him.

She couldn't blame him for being so determined to find out. Because, while he'd been talking, she'd remembered what Booth's false death had done to Angela... how her friend had been there for her every step of the way, obviously hurting from the loss herself, and yet sacrificing so much to be there for _her_. Clearly, Angela had done the same thing for Booth... and Brennan knew it couldn't have been any better. From what she'd managed to glean so far, it had been far worse. A year was a very long time.

She glanced towards the entrance to the cafeteria once again, and he stood up. She followed suit quickly, relieved. But he stopped her before they could move away from the table, making sure she was staring back at him before he said sincerely, "It's really great to have you back. Don't doubt that I mean that, no matter what you might think my opinion is at the moment. Because I missed you... every bit as much as Angie did."

"Thank you, Jack," she answered, her eyes shimmering.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

When she reached the hallway again, she found everyone exactly where they had been.

The smaller version of a waiting room that the elevators opened out to housed a few stiff-backed chairs and a table littered with worn magazines that were outdated by several months at the least. It had been a temporary home to just about the entirety of the team ever since Booth had been removed from the ICU and given his own room in which to stay while they waited for him to wake up.

Sweets was half-asleep in the same chair, with Cam flipping through a magazine without reading it directly to his right. Wendell and Nigel-Murray had both left following Booth's initial wake-up, probably feeling out of place amidst the much closer central unit of the team, and she had only gotten to speak to Zach briefly before he had been brought back to the secure facility he was still living in. She had no idea when she'd get to talk to him again. Angela was the only one missing, but that was to be expected. Brennan had ensured that someone would be with Booth at all times... not that it would have been necessary. Angela had practically shoved her out the door, remaining firmly by Booth's bedside regardless of anything she had to say.

The only change was the addition of four new figures to the room, all of whom immediately reacted upon her entrance.

"Bones!" Parker Booth threw his arms around her with expected enthusiasm, finally pulling away to stare up at her face with huge brown eyes. In her head, she calculated his age, and realized that the boy was now around nine years old... probably on the border of ten. Unlike with the others who she had left behind, the year of difference had made remarkable changes from her memories of him. He was taller now, having experienced a small form of a growth spurt, it would seem, and his hair was no longer a complete tangle of blonde hair. It was neater, and his face had slimmed down a tad as well.

"You've grown," she commented with a grin. He was continuing to stare, though, blinking a couple times, and Rebecca reached over to pull him away, smiling apologetically and casting him a reproachful glance.

As had happened multiple times since her return, she was reminded that things were not as they had been as far as her appearance went. She wasn't the same person any of them remembered seeing... for Parker, the difference would have been far more incomprehensible than the others, who had been polite enough to not even mention it once to her. She'd caught a few stray stares, which were only to be expected, but there was never any outright discussion about it. She assumed they were all too concerned about her reactions to bring it up. For now, she was grateful for their consideration. She didn't really want to talk about it, not with Booth still in a hospital bed.

Nothing, after all, seemed very important in comparison to that detail.

The other two new additions, besides Rebecca and Parker, who now moved aside, were two faces that she had actually managed to forget. It wasn't that she had forgotten _them_... but more that in the chaos and anxiety of the past few days, she hadn't even considered the possibility of their arrival. It hadn't occurred to her that at some point, she'd have to face them just like everyone else that was already here.

"Tempe," Russ murmured, his typical lopsided grin looking only somewhat forced as his eyes traced over her face with obvious shock before he enveloped her in a hug.

Max followed suit, holding her for far longer, and murmuring in her ear, "Don't you dare do this to us ever again," before he pulled away.

But his eyes were twinkling with joy rather than anger when he, too, stepped back.

"How's it feel to be back from the dead, sweetheart?" he asked in typical fashion. Trying to lighten the atmosphere.

She smiled genuinely, something she hadn't had much occasion to do at all in the past year. It was another adjustment. "At the moment, very good," she said. It wasn't a complete lie. While things were challenging, and were likely going to only get worse as time passed... to know that everyone knew the _truth_ was a huge weight off of her shoulders. She no longer felt like every moment was a betrayal against the trust she'd taken from them. Of course, that didn't mean that the meter, while it had stopped adding up the damages, wasn't now reflecting a total she couldn't ever hope to pay back.

"Is Booth awake?" she asked, addressing no one in particular.

"I looked in a minute ago," Cam volunteered. "I think he had just woken up at that point... Angela was talking to him, and he seemed alright."

She nodded, her eyes darting down the hall towards his door.

"Go," Max urged her. "We'll be here when you get back."

She felt her face relax in relief, and gave them all a smile of gratitude before she turned and practically ran to his door. Peering in the tiny window only briefly, she tested the handle and pushed the door open slightly, poking her head around it. Giving them time to hear her arrival.

At once, Booth's face lit up in a grin, and she felt the world melt away along with all of her fears and insecurities. It suddenly didn't matter that he was likely to be mad at her before long... not right when he was smiling at her like this, like she was the only thing in the world for him.

"Bones," he said, his eyes sparkling with happiness, and what she realized was probably a tint of relief as well.

"You're awake," she said, unable to avoid grinning back as she stated the obvious.

"How was your coffee?" Angela asked, interjecting and making her presence clear to the two of them.

She shrugged, deciding that since the coffee had been a form of intervention to remove her from the room, it didn't need a real response. She hadn't actually taken more than a sip of it, to begin with, and she wouldn't have been able to judge it based on that anyways.

"I'll be with the rest of them," Ange said, standing up. She embraced Brennan again before moving out of her way, and when the door shut she was surprised at how silent it suddenly became. She had no clue what to say to start a conversation, and it was clear that he was drawing a similar blank.

"You must have been bored out of your mind... with no bones to work on," he commented, and his tone was surprisingly light. She wondered if he was trying to disguise another question, but finally just chose to answer him.

"I missed working with all of you. And... spending time with you, specifically. I'm actually rather... looking forward to eating at the Diner again, as silly as that might sound."

"Hey, you've been gone for a year. It's not silly to miss stuff like that. When I was gone for those two weeks, I missed all the typical stuff that I didn't usually think about."

And there it was... the introduction to what he was actually getting at. The obvious parallels between the two situations had escaped no one, least of all him.

"Are you angry with me?" she asked carefully, deciding that a blunt question and answer format would be best to figure out where she stood. For the moment, at least.

"A little," he said honestly. "Mostly, though, I'm just unbelievably relieved. And from what little I know about my own time among the dead, you probably weren't as angry as you let me believe when I came back, either."

She hung her head.

"I was... only a little angry," she admitted, barely daring to meet his eyes lest she should see judgment and betrayal shining back at her. "And... I'm sorry I never apologized for punching you. I was... I was more relieved than anything else, as well."

When her eyes flicked up to check his expression, he was smiling softly. She managed a small smile in return, watching him for any signs of discontent.

"I'm going to speak with Cullen later," he said, "And find out exactly what he thought he was doing. In the meantime, though... I'm just really glad you're here."

She nodded back, her eyes shimmering again with an expected coat of tears. As of late, her emotions had been increasingly out of control.

She reached forward and weaved her fingers through his, gripping his hand tightly.

"Me too," she murmured back.

**Sorry for the slow update. Five days is a long time, so I might try to go with just four from now on. Let me know what you thought of this one :)**


	27. Brick Walls

**A/N: I know I promised an update yesterday, but it turned out to busier than I was expecting and I completely forgot. So sorry. Here it is now, though, and I hope you'll enjoy it. **_  
_

_Chapter 26- Brick Walls_

_May 15__th__, 2011_

When Angela slid back into her seat with Hodgins, no one spoke. Her presence was acknowledged, but other than that, nothing. The team, with Brennan among them, was somewhat animated. When she was out of sight and sound, though, it was a different picture.

Shock had been the expected reaction, and it was what they had gotten upon their arrival in the hospital. Not one person had known what to say, or do, when they were presented with the paradox of their dead friend and colleague standing before them looking decidedly worse for wear. It hadn't been just the scarring, either.

And the silence wasn't helping things... from the moment it fell the first time they all left Brennan alone by Booth's unresponsive form in the room, she hadn't been able to stop seeing the trees and the helicopter, and, most of all, Brennan's face, white with terror.

_"Thank you," Brennan whispered. "I'm going first... wait until they're both following me, and then be as quiet as you can so they don't turn back. I'm counting on you." She wrapped her in a quick one-armed hug, whispering "I love you, Ange. Don't forget that, no matter how this turns out. And... tell Booth the same, if it comes down to it."_

_ Before she could think of any suitable response besides to nod in agreement, her friend was moving away through the trees, crouched down with her gun drawn. _

_ She was going to draw the danger after herself, and Angela had never felt so terrified in her life. She was the one that was going to be safe any moment... out of the line of danger completely, but she wished she wasn't. She wished that Brennan wasn't so stubborn and selfless. She wished _she_ was the one leading these killers away from her friend, not the other way around._

_ But it was far too late to go back on her word... they were already following Brennan. She could see that, and she held her breath, her heart-rate picking up as they passed by far closer than she'd been anticipating. _

_ She could have called out, could have started running and got their attention. She could have diverted them from Brennan completely... given her friend the chance to have what she never had before. She would go back, to be with their team, to be with _Booth_. _

_ A moment later, though, and all three of them were gone. She was alone among the trees. It took her a long moment to take even one shaking step, and it was when she did that she brushed against the tree and let out a short gasp._

_ She hadn't even noticed that she was bleeding, and apparently neither had Brennan. A tree branch must have cut into her shoulder while they were dodging through the forest, and now the blood was seeping into the fabric of her blouse, the off-white rapidly turning crimson. She clasped a hand over it on instinct, staring off in the direction Brennan had gone in and sending a silent prayer up that her friend would be okay... and she was someone who almost _never_ prayed. Then she set off in the opposite direction, the one that Brennan had pointed her in only a moment ago, and ran as quickly as she could._

_ Falling became a common occurrence as she hit every bump in the path she took, and by the time the trees began to thin, she knew she was covered in bruises and cuts. Her shirt was a lost cause, not that it was of any concern. The blood, though, was starting to worry her. The injury didn't seem to be closing up, no matter what she did. _

_ When she saw movement to her right, she almost fell over in panic._

_ "I've found a woman," a man's voice called, and a moment later a static-filled response echoed through his radio as his footsteps pounded towards her. She sank slowly to the ground, leaning against a tree. "Ms. Montenegro?" the man said in alarm as he reached her, crouching down._

_ It took her a moment to recognize his face, but finally she placed it. He was an agent that she'd seen at a few crime scenes she'd been to with Brennan. She didn't know his name, but she did know that she was immensely grateful to see him._

_ "Brennan," she choked out, pointing helplessly back in the direction she came from. "They're chasing Brennan..."_

_ He stared in confusion, and then held the radio up to his face again, standing up._

_ "She says she's sighted the suspects... due southwestward... chasing another woman..."_

_ She wanted to correct him... it was _Brennan_ they were after... not 'another woman,' but she couldn't find her voice. She winced in pain as he bundled up his jacket and pressed it against her shoulder._

_ "Ms. Montenegro is wounded... I repeat, we have a wounded woman... I'm taking her back to the house. Be advised that suspects are likely armed."_

_ She had no inclination to correct him about how she'd gotten the injury, not that she could have voiced the words anyways. She was feeling decidedly light-headed. When he tried to get her to move, though, she forced out a protest._

_ "Brennan... you have to make sure that... that Brennan's okay..."_

_ He probably thought she was losing it, but he attempted reassurance anyways. "I'm sure she'll be fine, Ms. Montenegro. You need to come with me... can you stand?"_

_ At that moment, another set of footsteps pounded towards them._

_ "Kevin?" another male voice called, and a moment later a second agent came into view. "Oh God, what happened to her?"_

_ "Not sure... she's practically unconscious though... lost a lot of blood. Keeps going on about Dr. Brennan..."_

_ He winced, glancing at her pityingly. She would have glared, or at least argued, but she was starting to see spots._

_ "I'll help you... they've already got the medics on the way. Sending a helicopter, from what I hear. Cullen doesn't want to risk anything with this one... I think he's anticipating some major damage if he called it in without knowing any details yet."_

_ "Well, be grateful... the sooner it gets here the better."_

_ A gunshot rang out suddenly, and Angela let out a strangled cry._

_ Both men's heads turned in the direction of the ringing sound, and then they turned to each other with obvious alarm before simultaneously reaching down and working their arms around her. _

_ "Get her under the arms... I think we can support her from there. She's not totally gone."_

_ "Ma'am, can you try to help us? See if you can walk at all..."_

_ She barely heard them, but once they had her propped on her legs she stumbled along with them holding her up on both sides. After that, she didn't remember much of what happened on the journey back to the cabin._

_ She did remember the sound of the helicopter going by overhead, and how it had faded off... going out over the forest._

_ Every time one of the agents had gotten a radio message, they'd gone into one of the other rooms. She felt helplessly unaware of what was going on... not knowing who that gunshot had been for, or even if it had hit its target. _

_ What if Bren was out there somewhere, dying? _

_ What if they hadn't found her, or the Hursts?_

_ When the blades of the helicopter came into hearing distance again, she was almost sick with anticipation, terrified of what it might mean. _

_ There was just enough room, while the land was uneven, in between the house and the trees. Her hair blowing all across her face and her breath taken away by the sheer force of it all, the agents helped her across the distance and into the open side of the aircraft, shouting briefly to the medics before the doors were shut and the helicopter started upwards once more. She didn't even have time to think about how much she disliked small, enclosed, flying spaces, because every thought other than those for Brennan were swept away the instant she saw her friend's expression._

_ "Sweetie," she gasped, taking in first her best friend's pale face, which was drawn with fear, and then her shaking frame, soaked through with what she first thought was water, but quickly realized was gasoline. "Oh my God," she whispered. "Bren, what happened?"_

_ But Brennan didn't seem to even hear her, and at last she took in the rest of her surroundings and realized the actual source of her friend's distress. And once she saw the body lying on the stretcher, surrounded by most of the medics, she felt her own face go white with horror._

_ "No," she choked our, her eyes seeking out Brennan's, who finally looked up for the briefest of seconds, that single glance conveying more terror than Angela had ever seen from anyone, including Brennan herself in those hours after the karaoke night three years ago. _

_ It was then that she also became aware of the second body, lying on the other side of the small space, and getting very little attention. She recognized the face at once as that of Chance Hurst, and saw that he was unconscious with bandages across his shoulder._

_ Wherever Everett was, she didn't much care. Although she did find herself hoping he was in a body bag._

_ "Bren," she tried again, determined to get her friend talking, to pull her out of the catatonic state she was starting to fade into. But a medic got in between the two of them, asking her questions rapid-fire as he dabbed gauze at the injury on her shoulder. _

_ She tried to ignore him, but ended up stammering out answers one after the other as she tried to keep an eye on Brennan, who was obviously losing her grip on reality. The shaking had only gotten worse, and whenever any of the paramedics attempted to talk to her, or treat her, she forced them to focus all their efforts back on Booth._

_ When the one working on Angela finally turned his attention to her, tired of his patient being mostly uncooperative while trying to look past him, she snapped at him as well, except ordering him to ensure that Ange was alright rather than sending him over to Booth. _

_ At least she was talking. Trying to placate herself with that fact, though, was like trying to put out a forest fire with a single hose. It kept burning under her skin and threatening to tear her apart. _

_ The flight seemed to last an eternity._

After they had arrived at the hospital, everything had happened so fast that she barely recalled the details. She remembered Booth being rushed away, and Brennan almost collapsing when she wasn't allowed to go with him. She remembered holding her up until the nurses convinced her to come to a room to be looked at. She remembered phoning Hodgins and telling him to bring some of her clothes to the hospital, and she remembered the way all of them had arrived in the waiting room, bewildered and uninformed, and how she had been forced to leave them there, taking off with the bag of clothing and convincing Brennan to shower and change in the hospital room that she didn't want to stay in at all to begin with.

Most of all, though, she remembered the way that all of them had reacted when she had told them that Brennan was alive. Because by the time Brennan was in any shape to go anywhere, they had been informed that Booth was out of surgery, and she had refused to do anything but go straight to his room.

Angela hadn't had any choice but to tell them all herself, as they stood around in the waiting room, and then she had brought them up to the correct floor and somehow managed to get Bren to leave Booth's side long enough to convince them all that she _hadn't_ gone crazy, and that their friend was truly still alive.

And Brennan had been grateful that she had taken off half the burden by informing them _before_ they saw her. Angela knew she had been worried about seeing _her_ again, when it had only been the two of them. To toss her among an entire group of people that believed her to be dead would have been something she never would have handled. Especially not while she was as stressed as she already was about Booth.

Now, night was nearly falling again. Parker and Rebecca had gone in to see Booth after giving Brennan a few minutes with him alone, and the room still seemed over-crowded with the three of them missing. None of them had been to the lab in the past few days... and like Brennan, Angela had yet to go home since she had arrived at the hospital. Jack had been running errands and getting supplies, being polite about making sure they had everything they needed when she knew he wanted to suggest that they sleep in their own beds again, if only for their sanity.

She loved him for looking out for her, but at the same time, she knew that as long as Brennan was in the hospital, she would be right there. Bren simply wasn't ready to tell Booth everything she had been feeling without him, and at some point, she was bound to break down. There was no way Angela was leaving her alone when that moment could happen at any time. She wasn't going to let her best friend cry it out alone in the bathroom around the corner; she was going to be there, no matter what.

It didn't take long for Brennan to step out of the room, alone, leaving Booth with his son and Rebecca. She looked up the hallway at their little gathering, and hesitated, looking unsure of herself. Standing up and ignoring the looks of surprise from the rest of the group, who hadn't noticed Brennan's entrance to the hallway, she made her way towards her and then led her in the opposite direction.

"Where are we going?" Bren asked hesitantly, but didn't fight her as she continued to steer until they reached the stairs.

"Just a walk, sweetie," she assured. "You need some fresh air. And... we need to talk about some things."

Brennan stiffened and fell silent, but continued to walk alongside Angela, apparently not feeling that it was worth it to protest physically.

They travelled down the three flights of stairs in silence, the sound of their tapping footsteps keeping them company until they arrived on the ground floor, where Angela led the way to the courtyard that Brennan hadn't even known about. She cast Angela a look, and she sighed in response.

"I came here, after we were told," she murmured. "It was raining that night... it started right after we got the phone call. When... when they told us, in the waiting room... that you hadn't made it... I sort of lost it."

Brennan looked away guiltily, and normally this would be a point where she would stop, and reassure her friend that whatever it was, wasn't something for her to be upset about. But in this situation, she didn't feel that familiar twinge. Instead, she felt a desire to push on, to make her friend _understand_ what this had done to them. She was going to find out eventually. Unlike with Booth's false death, where she had denied that she'd ever been upset, Booth was going to express how he'd felt at some point.

And Angela wanted to tell her, for some crazy reason, how _she_ had felt. It was going to hurt, yes, but knowing that there had been a phone and an internet connection inside that cabin... it pushed her to keep talking. Because she wanted to know _why_.

"Booth... yelled quite a bit, and threatened, and... and eventually we got him calmed down, although I probably wasn't much help, being a complete wreck myself..." she took a deep breath, continuing to walk down the narrow stone path through the garden courtyard. It was weird how she noticed that it was beautiful now, when that night the only thing she had cared about was the blissful pain of the ice water raining onto her flesh from the heavens... letting her escape and disguising her blinding tears in plain sight. "At some point I just couldn't _be_ there anymore. I didn't even know where I was going, and I made Hodgins promise not to follow me... and this was where I ended up." She reached out a hand and ran it down a long slender leaf that was dangling off a tall plant. The colors all around were vibrant and glowing.

"I'm so sorry," Brennan whispered. "I... I know what it's like. I know... what it must have felt like."

"Yes, you do," Ange agreed with a shake of her head. "And I'm not _blaming_ you for that night, or even that _week_. Not anymore than I blame Booth for that first day without him. It's the part after that that I just _really_ don't get, Brennan. And don't get me wrong... I'd rather have you here now, after all this time, than not at all. That would _always_ be my preference. If it was five years instead of one... I'd still take you being alive over anything else. But that doesn't mean it doesn't still _hurt_. Just like it hurt when you found out Booth hadn't told _you_ the truth."

She just looked away. Where the Brennan she used to know would have argued that they'd moved past it and it didn't matter anymore, this Brennan seemed to accept that there had been emotions associated, and that she agreed with Angela's assessment of them. At least that was something... an improvement, if nothing else.

"Sweetie," she started again, and Brennan met her eyes hesitantly. "I know you're worried about Booth, but he's going to be okay."

"He got _shot_, Ange. Because of me."

She pulled back slightly in shock. That was a detail she hadn't heard yet... Brennan hadn't spoken a single word about what had happened since they had split up in those woods, actually.

"Bren, what exactly _happened_ out there?"

But her words pushed Brennan back behind her walls, because she immediately looked away, her expression shuttering.

Angela sighed. "Alright, I get it, sweetie. But... when you're ready, I'm here. And no matter what you say, this is not your fault."

Brennan eyed her incredulously. "Ange, a moment ago you were telling me that I should have told you all I was alive, and now you're telling me I have no fault in what happened two nights ago?"

"Yes. Sweetie, you might not get it now, but while I can't really understand your _complete _reasoning for not just... I don't know, emailing me or something... I know that it is _Everett and Chance_ who are at fault for whatever it was that happened in the woods."

"That's not entirely true either," she said, her words soft.

She almost questioned her on it, but then decided that it was going to only get her against another brick wall. So she changed the topic completely, to the other matter she had wanted to discuss.

"I want you to come back to my place tonight, and stay with me and Jack."

Brennan's expression changed at once to one of complete disbelief. "You can't be serious, Ange. Booth is—"

"Booth will be perfectly fine sleeping here alone for the night. You need a good night's rest. I'm serious. And I _promise_ we will come back tomorrow morning, first thing. Please just... do this for me. Because I'm sincerely worried about you, and I think I have every right to be after what I've just been through, not only these past few days, but this past _year_."

She knew that it was a low blow, but clearly the guilt trip worked, because Brennan bit her lip and then nodded. "First thing in the morning, though," she said firmly.

"Seven o'clock," Ange negotiated, knowing only too well that Brennan's concept of 'first thing' was bound to be skewed towards some outrageous time like, say, two in the morning.

She scowled, but nodded nonetheless, and Angela let herself relax slightly.

"We should probably head back up," she suggested after a moment. "They'll be worrying about us, no doubt."

She nodded in agreement, and they turned together to make their way back through the garden and into the building that had long been the sight of their worst nightmares.

Maybe now that could finally start to change.

**Your thoughts?**


	28. Burnt Imprints

**A/N: Eek, slow update again. *hides head in shame* Sorry. I hope all my fellow Americans had a good 4th of July weekend. And I hope all of you enjoy this next chapter. You'll be happy to know that I finally re-read this story myself, having not done so since I stopped writing in like... November/December to work on Stars Above Our Heads and then In the Worst of Times. If I get my act together, I'll be writing new chapters of this soon enough, and then I'll update quickly again when I'm sure I'm not going to run out. **

**Note that we've moved forward a bit, as far as the timeline goes. **_  
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_Chapter 27- Burnt Imprints_

_May 18__th__, 2011_

"Sweetie?" Angela's voice called as she peered around the corner. "There you are... why didn't you say something when I was calling for you?"

She was sitting on Angela's couch, staring at a framed photograph of the two of them. She'd spent the past two nights here, but had failed to notice this particular image on her past visits... probably because she spent all of her time here either sleeping or desperately trying to push her friend out the door so they could return to the hospital.

Angela and Hodgins' house was filled with photographs. Enlarged images of cellular structures—Hodgins' doing, no doubt—lined one of the hallways. Most of the rest, though, were from Angela, which she had expected. And all the others were neatly placed as decorations, or hung on the walls as accents to her other artistic items... except this one, which was in a small silver frame and sat in the middle of the coffee table, the only object on the dark mahogany surface.

She had recognized it easily. It had been hers, after all... just about the only photograph in her entire apartment, besides the one of her and Booth.

"Booth wasn't the only one that... found something in my apartment, was he?" she whispered.

Angela silently shook her head. "I found that... the same day. The frame was totally destroyed, but the photograph... well, obviously it survived. Jack didn't even question it when he found it out here in a new frame the next day. To be honest, I think he was used to it... to things just _happening_ in order to help me... cope."

She had already explained once to her friend why she hadn't told anyone she was alive, but clearly it hadn't been enough. And Angela had every right to be upset with her. She just really didn't know how to make things better. And she couldn't bring herself to start blurting out explanations again, when all it would sound like would be a bunch of excuses for things that never should have happened to begin with.

The other night, in the courtyard, had certainly been an eye opener into the world that she had left behind. It had also made her realize that she had never told Booth that much detail about her time spent thinking he was dead. And he had believed her, too, when she had told him that she was over it. But she had never really recovered from it... especially from the fear that it might someday happen again.

And that was a major reason why these past few days had been so unbelievably terrifying. Because to see him again, only to lose him, would have been the last thing her already fragile mind could have handled.

She had no idea how she'd have gone about it, but she would not have returned to the living if he hadn't survived. It was simply an impossibility.

"Are you ready to leave?" Angela asked, the words coming out hesitantly, and she nodded and stood at once. She hadn't needed any reminding or prompting these past few days, which was probably why Angela seemed concerned as she watched her pull on her coat.

Booth was getting released from the hospital today.

She had wanted to invite him to stay with her, so she could keep an eye on him and ensure that he truly was alright, but she didn't even have a place to call her own. Cullen had said something about arranging for a new apartment for her, but she'd barely listened at the time.

Cam had agreed to stay with him for the first few days, to make sure he was doing okay. For that, she felt a mixture of gratitude and jealousy. She wanted to be the one to be by his side, to be the one that protected him... after all, it was her fault he'd even been in the hospital to begin with. But he was probably better of with Cam, who he could trust. _She_ had never failed him, after all.

These past few days, while not nearly as trying as the first few after her return, had been a challenge. She spent most of her time at the hospital in Booth's room, talking about mindless things while they kept each other company.

He hadn't brought up the elephant in the room since the day he had woken up, and she wasn't about to introduce the subject herself. As long as he was content to act like nothing was wrong, she would happily follow his example.

Today was going to change everything, though.

When Booth left the hospital, he was no longer going to be easily accessible. She couldn't just show up at his apartment, or go the Hoover building to see if his office was in the same room as it had been before. Rationally, of course, she _could_ do anything she wanted... she could go see him at any hour, day or night. But emotionally... there was no way she could visit him once he left that hospital room.

She had no idea of what their standing was, especially with how reluctant they _both_ were to address anything even related to it. He seemed more happy to be around her than anything else... but that was now. What if things changed, the way they had with Angela? Angela still cared for her, and claimed she would love her no matter what... but that didn't mean she couldn't interpret the pain she had caused her friend, which lingered in her gaze like a burnt imprint.

And she didn't have a job, either. Cullen had said he would look into getting her re-instated, but Cam hadn't even mentioned the topic once. She was worried that it might not be as easy as she had once hoped to regain all aspects of her old life.

Being back in DC, too, was strange.

As they silently drove the distance to the hospital for one last time, she looked out at the city, pristine and just starting to buzz with morning activity. It was just as she remembered, but for some reason, she now felt like a stranger everywhere she went... almost like she was watching everything through her computer screen rather than actually being there. She felt like she didn't belong, like she was an outsider in a place where she used to walk so confidently, where she had once hailed cabs and frequented the Diner, the Founding Fathers restaurant, and Wong Fu's. All were places she had yet to see again since her return, in addition to the Jeffersonian.

Every now and then, when she wasn't paying attention, though, she'd catch herself thinking things were just the way they used to be. It was something that had only happened in the earliest moments of the morning, on that border between sleep and wakefulness, right before she remembered. Now, being back among the people she knew and the streets she recognized... it was easier to get caught in the illusion. Easier to, just for a moment, picture her old apartment when Angela said they should get home for the night. Easier to almost suggest going back to the lab as if it were any typical Wednesday, and nothing had ever been wrong.

As if she hadn't been dead a year. As if she didn't now only have one good eye.

As if her face wasn't covered in scars that would never let her fully forget the choices that she had made.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"There you are!" a woman's gruff voice said, getting both of their attentions just as they stepped out of the elevator. "It is _about_ time, let me tell you, _cherie_..." Caroline practically wagged her finger in Brennan's face, her expression set in stone. "Now, you give me a hug, or you don't wanna know what I'll do."

Slightly alarmed, she allowed the attorney to wrap her arms around her.

"You have no idea how much your up and dying mixed up things. You," she pointed at Angela. "Scat. I've seen enough of your pretty little face in the past year." She grabbed Brennan firmly by the arm, and pulled her up the hall in the opposite direction from Booth's room.

She gave Angela a helpless look, but her friend just waved at her, suppressing a chuckle, and turned to go to Booth's room on her own. She sighed and resigned herself as Caroline pulled her into an empty room that she had clearly found ahead of time.

"We have some talking to do, _cherie_."

"I surmised that," she huffed, finally separating herself from the other woman and standing a few feet away with her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised.

"For one thing," she continued, as though Brennan hadn't spoken at all, "I had to fill out a lot of paperwork, and deal with a _lot _of criminals thinking it was suddenly a _very_ good time to appeal their cases. Apparently news travels fast, and they up and think _'oh lookie there, the lead forensic expert went and got herself blown up. Now I can get out of jail!'_"

"I'm... sorry?"

"Damn right you are." She sighed, shaking her head for a long moment and looking Brennan up and down. "Alright, _cherie_. You know I don't like many people. And for some crazy reason I got myself _attached_ to your jolly little band of misfits. Which is why I'm going to forgive you for all the work you shoved on me by picking such a lovely time to up and die."

She had a feeling that that was Caroline's way of saying she was happy that she wasn't actually dead, but she knew better than to voice that opinion.

"Thank you," she said instead, and Caroline gave a satisfied little nod.

"Good. Deputy Director Cullen dropped by my office earlier, and told me he wanted to pass along a message when I came over to see how our Booth was faring. Turns out you've got yourself a nice new apartment. What with those two psychos locked up tight until the trial, he's feeling generous. All your furniture and whatnot should be waiting for you by the time you get there... here you are..." she passed over a slip of paper with Cullen's thick handwriting scrawled across it, along with a pair of keys on an otherwise empty key ring. "The trial is a good long ways away, of course, so you get yourself settled and we won't even talk about testimonies until we're hitting the crest before the big event."

"Testimonies?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.

"Well _of course_," Caroline practically barked. "You, _cherie_, are the star witness. Dead for a year, apartment blown to smithereens, a _second_ murder attempt in the middle of some godforsaken forest, witness to the attempted murder of an FBI agent..."

She shivered at the last one, but still wasn't swayed. "They... they should be pursuing an insanity plea."

"You leave that up to me to negotiate my way through. Don't worry your pretty little head; if I get my way, we'll be frying them."

"But that's not the point," she argued. "Justice... should be more important than revenge." Caroline was eying her like she was crazy herself, and she sighed and pushed on, "Everett and Chance were _made_ the way they are by abuse and trauma as children. It's not entirely their faults."

"Oh God, I was worried you might start preaching... I am the _people, _Dr. Brennan. I am going to do everything possible to put two very dangerous, and somewhat deranged, killers behind bars for as _long_ as I can. Not give 'em a slap on the wrist for not having perfect childhoods. They. Will. Keep. Trying. To. Kill. You," she emphasized firmly. "I don't know how else I can make it any clearer. Sometimes you make me wonder _why_ I like you..." she added in a mutter.

"I would like to speak to them, before the trial, if at all possible."

Caroline actually scoffed in disbelief.

"Absolutely not," she practically shouted, once more emphasizing every syllable as if to get the point across more clearly. "And I don't want to hear about you trying to sneak off to see them on your own either! They're already under watch to make sure none of your daddy's friends slit their throats in the middle of the night... not that I'd be particularly keen to stop them myself, if I had my way."

She wasn't sure if she should be touched or frustrated.

"If you want my opinion, you should find your new apartment, have Ms. Montenegro help you decorate or _whatever_, and get settled in."

"We're here to see Booth, actually."

"A bit late for that, _cherie_."

She froze, her next word coming out off-pitch "Why?"

"He was discharged a good hour ago... went off with Dr. Saroyan not long after Cullen headed back to the Hoover, from what I hear. I figured you'd still be on your way, though, and I caught a lucky break, now didn't I?"

Her blood had run cold, though, and she hadn't heard most of what Caroline had just said.

She didn't say goodbye as she pushed the door open and half-ran up the hallway, finding Angela sitting by the elevator looking a tad pale.

"Thank God," she breathed out when Brennan came into view. "I was starting to get worried. Bren, Booth's already _gone_."

"I know," she forced out. "I... can you drive me somewhere?"

Suddenly it was unbelievably important that she get out of this hospital. She felt like she was suffocating.

They rode down in the elevator in silence, Brennan not waiting to see if Caroline was going to follow or not.

She explained quickly to her friend as they made their way to her car that Cullen had set up an apartment for her. She didn't even have to ask for assistance; Angela simply volunteered to help her get situated.

The building was nice. That was the first thing she noticed when they pulled up in front of it. No doorman, but there was a secure entry system with cameras and call buttons. She let them in with the key she'd been given, and they found their way up the stairs to the third floor landing, where they found apartment 3F at the end of the hall.

It was about the same size as her old apartment, she noticed as Angela shut the door behind them. Her furniture was placed haphazardly around the space, and boxes of her few other belongings decorated the floor. Clearly, the joint forces of Witness Protection and the FBI had wasted no time in clearing out her cabin in the woods.

All the better. She never wanted to see that place again.

"Sweetie?" Angela's voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Angela raised an eyebrow. "I really shouldn't have to say, but alright. Brennan, Booth was gone when we got to the hospital. When he knew we were coming. If you aren't bothered by that, then we have a _bigger_ problem on our hands."

Brennan sighed. "Clearly, he made an understandable decision to leave at an opportune moment."

"Oh no. You are _not_ rationalizing this. Something happened, and how much of it you know, I've got no clue. But I know that you're upset about it."

"I am... concerned about what it might mean. But that is all."

Angela actually rolled her eyes. "Fine. You know what, I'll leave it alone. Let's just... sort out this apartment, get you moved in properly, and then go and find him and figure out what's going on."

"We are not going to find him, Ange," she said tiredly. "I am... going to stay here today. You can go back to your own place, or to the lab, or wherever... I'll be fine."

Ange opened her mouth to argue, but clearly thought better of it, and finally just said, sighing deeply, "Okay, Bren... let's just... get this done and then go from there, okay?"

She knew that it wasn't a definitive end to whatever it was they were in the middle of, but she gave a short little nod of agreement regardless.

This was all for the best, after all.

**It had to happen eventually. Let me know what your thoughts are :)**


	29. Lifeline

**A/N: I know that a lot of you were alarmed last chapter by Booth's behavior. I'm not sure how to apologize for any OOC-ness that he might be giving off, but I hope this chapter will explain his motives and reactions a bit. **_  
_

_Chapter 28- Lifeline_

_May 19__th__, 2011_

To be honest, Booth really didn't know what he was thinking.

His emotions had mixed themselves into his reasoning, and now he was starting to question everything... but mostly her motives and his own.

From the moment he had woken up until early yesterday morning, he had been under some sort of dream-like influence of reality. What was the truth when everything he had been made to believe was forcibly thrown out the window _twice_ in a matter of days?

Finding out she was alive had been like being struck with the full blast of a hurricane and having no shelter nearby. It was probably the greatest moment of his life, actually, but that didn't mean the shock hadn't been a physical presence that made breathing hard and kept a cloud over his feelings. It was hard to understand, really.

One moment, she had been gone forever, and the next... she had been standing there, in the woods. Alive. Breathing. _Talking_. Just like a dream. And then, in the hospital... she'd been right by his side. And she and the others had explained that it had all been a _lie_.

For those three days, he'd felt lighter than air, like just breathing was unrealistic, and would yank him back to the hard ground and jar her image away like smoke, until he was staring through her at the opposite wall and realizing that reality was so much harsher than it had ever been before.

Only, that hadn't happened. Because she really _was_ alive. Had never been dead to begin with. And for those three days, it hadn't _mattered_ that the past year had been hell. Because this second chance was like every last prayer he'd ever sent finally being answered, and a fresh slate being handed to him, sparkling and filled with promise. He had gladly take it, with little regard to the consequences.

Under all that, though, he'd done a lot of thinking. While she was gone from the room, or while there was silence between them, he'd been trying to pick up the puzzle pieces of his life to just understand what had _happened_.

What he'd come up with, from what little he'd been told, was that she had been in grave danger following the explosion. Cullen had made the decision to put her into Witness Protection indefinitely, and had cut off all her connections.

This of course, didn't really explain how Angela had come to be with her in those woods, or a _lot_ of things, if he really thought about it. But the thing was, he _didn't_ think about it. Because it was so much easier, so much more blissfully _perfect_ if he ignored all the inconsistencies and just let the fact that she was sitting by his bedside sink in to replace all the pain he'd been living with.

Outrunning reality, though, could not last forever.

As he'd been expecting, Cullen arrived on Wednesday morning to talk to him.

And while he had subconsciously been expecting to have the truth not match up with what he'd been imagining, it still hit him like a punch in the gut.

She'd had internet. She'd had opportunities to contact him. She'd spoken to Sweets, and asked to talk with Angela. She had made the choice to not allow him access to the case. She hadn't _wanted_ to come back.

Not knowing what to make of it, he had known one thing for sure. He couldn't stick around and wait for her to arrive that morning, as she had told him she was going to do. He needed time to process... to figure out how to ask her what it all meant... before he did anything. Which was why he now sat in his apartment feeling worse than he'd felt in the past week.

He wasn't allowed to go back to the office until the following Monday. Cullen didn't want him injuring himself further... and to be honest, Booth didn't really care. He didn't want to see any of his coworkers. Didn't even want to see Cullen again. Regardless of how Bones seemed to be responsible for never telling him, he still held his boss accountable for part of it—still couldn't hide the fact that it infuriated him that choices had been made for him without his knowledge, just the way they had been done with his own faked death all that time ago.

He knew that he shouldn't have expected her to contact him, but all the same he'd been staring at his phone ever since he'd settled back in to his apartment. Cam had clearly noticed, but she hadn't commented on it. In fact, she stayed mostly out of his way, making it known that if he _wanted_ to talk, she was there. He appreciated it, he really did, but he just couldn't get anything straight in his head for the moment, and speaking about it didn't seem like it would be much better.

This was the way Bones operated, though. He had taken off without notice, and she had resigned herself to it. She wasn't going to be the one to make the first move. Especially not with their current awkward standing. Despite how easy it had been to talk to her these past few days, he had picked up on the differences, and he knew that all was not well. She was waiting for something, and clearly this was it.

So it really shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, knowing that even now she wasn't capable of picking up a phone to check on him.

And he was too confused and frustrated to be the one to call _her_. Not yet, anyways.

What he did find strange was that Angela hadn't called. He knew her well enough to know that she would have checked in—both to ensure that he was fine, and to reprimand him for taking off on her _and_ on Brennan. But then again, he didn't know how the two best friends stood right now either. He'd rarely gotten to see them interact, seeing as he usually only had one of them visiting at any given time while he'd been in the hospital. For all he knew, Angela was just as pissed off as he was currently.

For some reason, though, he really hoped that wasn't the case. It didn't matter that Brennan had torn him apart if she was really hurting too. That should have frustrated him, too, knowing that she could do whatever she wanted to his heart and it would never change how he felt... but he couldn't work up the energy to _care. _Because he wanted to make sure she was safe, and Angela was an integral part of that. She had always looked out for Brennan when he couldn't, and this was one of those times.

And since she hadn't called... he was hoping it meant that she was with Brennan and didn't want to leave long enough to make a call.

He would figure this out eventually... and he and Brennan would work out whatever this was between them. She had to have a reason for what she'd done. And he wanted to hear it. _Needed_ to hear it in order to move on. Because if there was one thing that _could _change how he felt... it would be to know, without a doubt, that she didn't care about him. He didn't believe it was possible, but he never knew with her.

He had to be ready for anything... especially with what he'd already suffered through because of his feelings for her.

"Rebecca will be here soon with Parker," Cam reminded him from her spot beside him on the couch. The sound of the television slowly reached his ears, and he blinked as he reminded himself where he was. It was so easy to get lost in his head nowadays.

"Right," he said with a nod, not really sure what other response to give.

Cam gave him a worried look, but eventually sighed and climbed to her feet. "I have to get to the lab... things are starting to get back on schedule again, and I need to make sure it's all running smoothly. I hope you'll be back with us sooner rather than later."

"Yeah, I'll be back to work on Monday," he assured with a slight grin. It faded fast, though, and he bit his tongue for a moment before he asked seriously, "Do you think... Bones will be going back to the Jeffersonian?"

"I don't doubt it at all," Cam answered thoughtfully. "You know her. She'll want to be doing something with herself. I mean... a year in solitude must have driven her crazy. Do you think you'll be able to... handle that, though? Working with her again?"

"To be honest... I'm not really sure of anything right now. And... I just can't picture her back in the field."

"Because of her eye?"

He winced. "Yeah, that."

"Don't underestimate her, although I shouldn't have to tell _you _that. She may be half-blind, but I guarantee you she'll find some way to work around it. And she'll still want a gun," she added as an after thought, chuckling slightly. "I know you'll work things out," she murmured more seriously, and reached out to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly as she went around behind the couch and headed towards his door. "Try not to mortally wound yourself in the next five minutes before Rebecca shows up."

He laughed, "I think I can handle that. And... thanks Cam. Really."

"I'm here for you, big guy," she said, her voice holding that rare tone of tenderness. "Always have been, always will be. Call me if you need anything at all."

"I'll be fine."

She gave him a warning look that said _I don't care how fine it is; call me anyways_, and then opened his door and disappeared into the hallway.

He sighed and let his head fall back into the worn cushion. A moment alone was a strange thing, after spending every waking moment with someone by his side making sure he was okay. He almost didn't want it to end, but predictably his ex knocked only a minute after Cam had left, and he pulled himself uncomfortably to his feet, wincing slightly and flexing his arm muscles a few times. It was a miracle he didn't have more damage, but the pain was as frustrating as it had been last time he'd gotten himself shot.

Rebecca eyed him up and down when he opened the door, but he only winced slightly when his son hugged him. He ruffled the boy's hair, which was now a bit short for that sort of thing, and then invited them both inside.

She didn't waste any time getting down to business. "He can stay here for the day, but I'm coming by after he's had supper." In other words, _I don't trust you with him overnight._

While he would have been fine with that a few weeks ago, now he felt a twang in his chest at the thought. Bones being alive had knocked a lot of things back into focus. For one thing, he'd really let his life fall apart since she'd left it. And while he hadn't been able to work up the energy to focus on anything for the past year, hindsight was crystal clear. And in it he saw an entire summer of missed opportunities with his son, and countless weekends that should have been _theirs_.

For now, he'd let Rebecca get used to trusting him again, though. And so he didn't argue against her, and simply nodded in acceptance. "Meatballs and spaghetti for supper, Park?" he asked.

The boy grinned, "Yeah!" he cheered. "Do we have to have a vegetable, though?"

"Yes," Rebecca intervened, looking stern.

He knelt down. "How's corn on the cob sound?" he suggested, grinning mischievously.

Parker cheered, glancing at his mother with an expression that said _ha, that counts._ It was his favorite, and probably the only form of vegetable he actually ate without a scowl.

At least his efforts seemed to have impressed his ex, because she was nodding calmly when he stood back up to his full height.

"Don't strain that shoulder," she warned, and then turned to their son and said, "You make sure you call me if you need anything."

"I'll call you," Booth cut in. "If either of us needs anything." It was the only confrontational comment he made, and she seemed to get the point that he believed himself capable. On that note, she turned to leave.

"We saw Dr. Brennan out front on our way up. Parker wanted to know if she had been visiting with you," she added with her hand on the doorknob.

He felt his heart stop before it started pounding. "Bones was out front?"

Clearly Rebecca took this as a bad sign, because she told Parker to go wash his hands since they'd been out shopping that morning, and once he was gone she asked seriously, "Is everything alright between the two of you?"

He sighed. "Not really. But we'll figure it out. Did she... say anything to you, when you saw her?"

Rebecca shook her head, "No, we pulled up and it looked like she'd just gotten out of her car, but then she got back in and I thought she must have already been up to see you and was leaving."

He tried to force himself not to think of the possibilities, but failed. She'd been coming to see him... if Rebecca hadn't arrived, there was a good chance she would have reached his door. He almost regretted that his son had arrived at such an inopportune moment, but then decided that it was a good sign regardless... if she'd chosen to drop by, it was a step in the right direction. Now, though, she wasn't likely to call because she knew that Parker was with him.

But he had something to go by, now. It meant that she'd been planning to try and explain. And sometime soon, she'd likely try again.

With that worry somewhat put out of his mind, he reassured Rebecca that everything was fine and sent her off before taking Parker out to the Diner for lunch, half hoping he'd run into her there. No one familiar was seated anywhere in the small building, though, and he decided not to let it bother him, listening eagerly to his son's latest stories from school, and wondering how he could have been missing all of this for so long.

"What happened to Bones?" Parker asked suddenly, catching his attention in a startling fashion and jarring him from his thoughts.

He'd been dreading this question, although he'd been expecting it. And Parker wasn't a little kid anymore... he couldn't be placated with a simple explanation. He was going to want to know what had happened, and he was going to want details. And he was probably old enough to actually understand a good portion of it. Which was another thing that worried him.

"You told me she died, in that explosion. And we went to the candlelight ceremony last week... and then she was at the hospital, but... she didn't look the same anymore." Parker's politest way of saying it, which he appreciated. He could only imagine how shocked his son must have been when he first saw her, from both her being alive, and the way she looked. Sure, he might be older now, but Booth was fairly certain he'd never seen anyone with scars like that outside of a movie.

"Explosion's are dangerous," he said in the calmest voice he could manage. "Bones was really hurt by the blast... that's why she has those scars."

"But she was _dead._" Parker persisted.

He sighed, wondering whether or not his son would know what witness protection was. Judging from Rebecca's protective instinct, he probably hadn't seen any primetime shows. Which was most likely a good thing... he didn't need his son to start asking a ton of questions about the FBI once he saw how it was portrayed on TV.

"The FBI put her in protection... the way they did with me a few years ago. You remember that, right?"

"Yeah." He scrunched his face up. "Mom told me you were on vacation."

"Well, it was sort of like a vacation. Except really boring."

"But why didn't you know where she was?"

Parker was under the impression that he and Bones would someday end up together. It was childlike in that he didn't understand all the complications... but a lot of times Booth had found himself wishing he had the ability to think like that. The past year had been hard on the kid, though, and Booth knew that—felt a great deal of guilt for it, in fact, because he'd been a large part of the problem.

Parker wasn't blind though. He was a very intelligent kid... and he had made the connection between Bones' death and his father's unhappiness. It was only understandable that he wouldn't understand why his father hadn't been told she was alive. But the thing was, Booth really didn't _have_ an answer.

"Sometimes situations are just too dangerous, Parker," he tried to explain. He didn't really want to have to explain that he didn't know anymore than the boy did, because that would certainly only lead to more pressing questions.

He didn't seem very satisfied, but he had apparently run out of questions, because he returned to loudly drinking his smoothie and munching on the remaining French fries.

Booth gradually dragged the conversation back to lighter topics, and when he'd finally paid the bill he drove them over to the park for a long-overdue game of catch.

These were the things that he'd missed, without even realizing it. And it felt so good to be _back_ to them at last.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

When Rebecca arrived at his apartment that night, around eight o'clock, Booth was exhausted. One thing about Parker was that he never seemed to get tired. He was growing up so fast, but his energy level only seemed to increase. And he had gotten far more talented at baseball and football in the past year, probably aided by his slight growth spurt.

He had promised to talk to Rebecca about getting Park onto a more physical football team—she had insisted that a flag team was perfectly reasonable for his age level, and he hadn't agreed—but for now he figured it would be best not to bring it up. The day had gone well, and Rebecca seemed happy that she'd gotten some time to herself, so he didn't dare spoil the good will that was shining on him. He would bring it up later, though, and luckily Parker seemed to have toned down somewhat after filling himself up on spaghetti, so he had forgotten all about football and his father's promise.

Rebecca thanked him, and when he asked if he could have his son the next weekend, for the _whole_ weekend, she had only hesitated for a moment before agreeing.

It was a step in the right direction, and he felt a sense of relief even after the apartment fell depressingly silent once more.

It didn't stay that way for long, though; his phone rang less than five minutes after they had departed, and he picked it up with his usual greeting, expecting it to be Rebecca telling him that his son had forgotten something and she was on her way back.

But that wasn't it at all. In fact, there was a rather long pause after he answered, before he heard a hesitant, "Hi, Booth."

He froze in surprise, and then asked, even though he _knew_ it was her, "Bones?"

Another short pause. "Yeah, it's me... I was just wondering if you were... busy."

It didn't take a genius to figure it out. He stepped over to the windows, saying "No, not really," as he went. Sure enough, when he peered around one of his curtains he found Angela's car in the parking lot. He couldn't see the driver, but he guessed that either the artist had driven Brennan over, or had let her take the car. And she had obviously watched Rebecca and Parker leave. How long had she been sitting out there, waiting?

"I was just... wondering if maybe... you'd like to talk?"

That was all he needed from her. A relieved smile spreading across his face, and he answered, "Yeah, sure, Bones." He almost told her she could just come straight up, but he didn't want to make her uncomfortable, and telling her he knew she'd been pretty much stalking him would have done that without a doubt. "Do you want to meet me somewhere?"

"I'm... fairly close by."

"Alright. I'll see you in a few minutes, then?"

Her voice sounded relieved when she responded. "Yes, a few minutes."

After he'd hung up, he stood by the window for a while and watched her vehicle, picking up on the flicker of her shadow in the window, but not seeing her fully due to the angle he was at and the quickly fading sunlight.

Apparently she thought three minutes was long enough, because that was how long she waited before her door opened and she climbed out. She was wearing sunglasses, and what was probably a decent amount of makeup, because he couldn't see most of the scarring. It left her very pale, though, and he wasn't sure he liked it... it almost made her seem sickly.

But he had to remind himself that this time he wasn't worrying about her. He needed some answers, and he wasn't going to get them if he just brushed off all his concerns to replace them with ones centered on hers. And once she got up to his apartment, he doubted he'd have that problem. He was already upset with her, and seeing her again wasn't likely to take that feeling away.

Still, when he opened his door and found her standing directly in front of him, biting her lip and awkwardly holding her sunglasses dangling at her side, he felt a tightening in his chest that was begging him to wrap his arms around her in a way that he hadn't been able to do since her return.

She looked horribly nervous and self-aware, and she started rambling about how she'd thought about bringing Thai, but hadn't been sure if he had already eaten. He let her keep up the rouse that she hadn't been sitting outside his apartment building, because the more comfortable she was, the more likely she was to be completely honest with him when he got the chance to ask her the questions he needed the answers to the most.

Her eyes flickered to his shoulder. "Are you... healing satisfactorily?" Trust her to return to her rational roots, but he couldn't blame her for something as simple as that. She was clearly dealing with a great deal of anxiety over speaking to him. For some reason, he felt bad about that, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything about it. This needed to play out the way it was meant to... whatever that way might be.

"Not any worse than the last time I got shot," he offered with a half-shrug. "And the doc said that everything would be perfectly fine after a few weeks and some of the typical rehab stuff."

She nodded, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence.

There wasn't really any other way to go about it.

"Bones, why didn't you call me?"

"I did," she answered, referring to the call she'd placed a few minutes prior. They both knew that it wasn't what he'd meant.

"You know, I would have called you, if I'd known you hadn't been informed." From the way her eyes flicked away from his, he knew that she got what he was talking about. "And I think I deserve to know why you wouldn't do the same for me."

She looked like she wanted desperately to tell him something, but didn't know how. He waited, giving her all the time she needed.

"I was afraid," she whispered at last, and his eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in her voice. "At first... at first all I wanted to do was tell you, and everyone else. I... I was quite furious with Cullen. Those two weeks without _you_... they were the worst of my life."

He had never heard her speak of what it had been like for her, while he'd been dead, outside of her accusations and their shouting match in his bathroom. He had always suspected that there was more to it than just her rational anger at being left out of the loop.

"So I... I understood that what you and the others were going through was probably... horrible."

"It was," he filled in bluntly, and she nodded, her head hanging lower now and her hair shielding her face from his gaze.

"To start with, I didn't really have a choice."

"I got that much, from Cullen," he filled in for her. "It's the eleven months after that that I'm really just not getting."

She sniffed slightly, and he realized in shock that she was crying. He looked around for a box of tissues in his apartment, but didn't see one. She was continuing to hide her face from him, and when she next spoke, her voice was surprisingly steady. He had no idea what to say... not when half of him wanted to be the man who wrapped his arms around her no matter what and the other half wanted to yell at her until she finally said something that made everything make _sense. _

"Part of it was that... whoever had tried to kill me might still go after you. Or Angela, or... anyone else on the team."

"And the other part?" he asked, his voice quieter and more questioning rather than demanding. This seemed to boost her confidence somewhat, because she glanced up at him through the curtain of auburn before averting her gaze again and answering.

"The other part... Booth, I didn't want you to get hurt."

He gave a disbelieving snort. "Yeah. In what world would I not be hurt by you _dying_, Bones?" He was being an ass, and he knew it... but he wanted those answers, and the one he had just gotten had _hurt_.

"I just... didn't want you to get hurt _because _of me. I wouldn't have been able to... live with that."

He stared at her in disbelief, and then stepped forward, his flash of anger outweighing any other emotion. Now her head raised so she could meet his gaze on instinct, her eyes wide and semi-watery as he invaded her personal space.

"I took a bullet for you," he practically hissed. "I chose to risk my life to save yours, because _I_ wouldn't have been able to live without you. I would have rather been dead, then to have this past year be reality. All you did by not sending one _email_ was _hurt_ me, Bones. All you did by sitting there in your little cabin was _hurt_ me. All you did by spending your time writing books and pretending to be someone else, without so much as _attempting _to let me know, was _hurt_ me.

"And how can you... how can you say that you were _protecting _me by not telling me the _truth_? Because if you think so little of what you were to me, then... I don't even know, alright? I just really don't _know_ anymore."

She was shaking with silent sobs, but he couldn't make himself feel bad for it. Not until she did the one thing he'd never expected.

She stepped back.

It was a small step, but still, it was her moving away from him. Backing off in a way she had _never_ done before. Then he felt a twinge of guilt. But it wasn't enough for him to take back anything he'd just said. She needed to know the truth, because she needed to understand that he was _still_ hurting from what she'd done to him.

If he had just given into his relief about her being alive, if he had just waved off all of her concerns and never dealt with it... they'd never get the chance to heal properly. He didn't want to box it up. He wanted it out in the open, no matter the pain, so they could overcome it.

Right now, though, he felt like his chest might explode from how much his heart was aching.

"I'm sorry," she choked out. "I'm s-so sorry, and I j-just didn't, d-didn't..." her voice failed her, cracking and breaking off into unintelligible sounds as she squeezed her eyes shut tight and bit her lip so hard that the tender pink skin turned bright white.

His heart broke a little bit more as he stood there, staring at her, and he couldn't hold back anymore. He did the only thing he could possibly have done. He wasn't forgiving her, not by far, but he was willing to accept that she was sorry, even if he was sure there was more to her reasoning than she had said today.

So he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around in a crushing embrace. She gave a slight gasp of surprise, her smaller frame still wracked with uncontrollable sobs, and then she hesitantly pulled her arms loose from her sides and snaked them around him, gripping his shoulders like a lifeline, and refusing to let go.

He sighed into her hair, breathed in her familiar scent—she still used the same shampoo, he realized irrelevantly—and whispered softly, "I'm sorry, too. It's going to be okay, Bones... it's all going to be okay," wishing he could believe his own words.

**Alright. Let me know what you thought. Even if you still think he's out of character and making no sense. I need to know, because thanks to last chapter's comments I made some large edits to this to try and change that perception. All that you have to say does help a lot with making this story better. Thanks. **


	30. Fantasy

_Chapter 29- Fantasy_

_May 19__th__, 2011_

Sitting at his kitchen counter, she couldn't think of anything but the way it had felt to have his arms around her again. That had been one of the many things that she had missed more than anything else while she had been gone, and to have it again—even if just for a moment, and regardless of circumstances—had been like a miracle in itself. She'd never thought she'd get the chance again.

Ever since he'd been released from the hospital she'd been unable to think of anything else but seeing him again. It had been like this in the first weeks after waking up, too, but... different.

Back then, there had been a million different emotions battling for dominance within her. She had wanted—more than anything—to just hear his voice. More times than she could count, she had imagined how he would sound, how he would react when she told him the truth, and explained that she was safe and could come home as soon as those responsible were caught. Then he would have worked behind the scenes with her team, and they would have solved it, arrested the perpetrators, and brought her back so they could get on with their lives just as they had been before.

It had all been fantasy, and she knew that. It was just... hard to let go of. Because things wouldn't have been that easy, even if she had made the choice to contact Booth against Cullen's orders. Things would have been _complicated_. Things would have been _painful_.

She didn't know if it would have been just the same as it was now, and she'd never know, but it didn't stop her from wondering how she might have changed these circumstances. Because every minute that she had sat in her new apartment, feeling like an intruder in the pristine space, she had been lost in her own turmoil, unable to find the key to let herself loose from her torment... and not sure if she even wanted to escape, because really... didn't she deserve every bit of what she was getting?

But he didn't. That was the point she'd had to continuously remind herself of. Regardless of how much she deserved to suffer, if he was suffering too... it defeated the purpose. She needed to make sure he was alright, and she needed to try and fix things, so that he could be happy again. It was all her fault that he was miserable to begin with. All her fault because she had failed him. Over and over again.

Which was how she had come to be sitting here in his kitchen.

With nothing else to do but pace in uncertainty, she'd finally called Angela, who had been eager to lend her a car. She hated not having a vehicle of her own—the one she'd had in West Virginia had been a rental sent to her by the FBI so she could get in and out of town for supplies when she needed them, but now that she was out of protection, it had been reclaimed.

She still had plenty of money—a large portion of it had gone to charities designated in her will, and quite a lot of it had been passed to Angela, Booth, and then the others, as well as an investment towards a college fund for Parker—but she was still well-off, and the money from the three books that she had cranked out during her time in isolation had refurbished her bank account nicely.

It was just the matter of getting out to find a new vehicle, and of course getting a new DC license. She was still perfectly capable of driving with just one eye, but she'd been forced to take a driving test under the FBI's guidance before they'd let her drive with her false identity's license. It had been frustrating, just like everything else with one eye had been at first.

Booth had noticed, too. There was no way he wouldn't have, of course, but a part of her had still been wishing for things to return perfectly to the way they had been before... it was horribly irrational of her.

Just like with Sweets, he stared without really noticing he was doing so, his eyes just raking over the damage to her formerly smooth skin with clear pain in his expression. She knew he would be comparing the old with the new, and she knew that he'd be wishing that it had never happened... and she just couldn't deal with that.

Which was why she usually just tried to ignore it altogether, and pretend that nothing was wrong with her image... just with her personality and the way she had treated her friends. Because those were things she didn't want to forget. Those were things she could fight to change, while her scars... her scars were never going to go away.

It was something she would just have to accept.

She had never even considered plastic surgery.

He handed her a beer, and she took it in surprise, not having noticed that he'd gotten up to go to the fridge. He had offered her some leftovers of his and Parker's supper, but she had politely turned him down. She wasn't hungry. In fact, she felt somewhat sick. But she took the beer, and popped the top off, sipping down the first cool gulp smoothly and sighing as she set it back on the counter in front of her.

"So, you've got a new place now?" he asked.

"Cullen told you?" she guessed, and he nodded. "It's nice," she said, figuring that she was probably expected to comment on it. In reality, she didn't think there was any place that would ever feel like home again. Not after what happened to her last living space.

"That's good... where is it?"

"Opposite end of town... still about fifteen minutes from the lab."

He nodded. "Good, at least... y'know, that doesn't have to change."

They both knew that the time it took to get to the lab was of little consequence, but she nodded her agreement anyways.

She could tell he wanted to ask more about her reasoning, but he didn't know how to bring it up again. To be honest, she was glad. She didn't know what she would say if he did... she truly did want to explain everything to him, but she just didn't know _how_ to. What could she say to make him understand? She'd tried to explain already, and it had only upset him. The rest of her reasoning would only infuriate him further, and make him hate her more for what she had done.

She just couldn't do that, couldn't find a way to say the words.

And thankfully, it seemed that he wasn't going to bring it up again tonight. Obviously this wasn't over... he would keep seeking answers until she eventually broke down and just spilled everything to him... but for the moment she was safe.

"So when do you think you'll be... going back to work?"

The question caught her off-guard, but she realized it was a logical transgression from the last part of their conversation. Just because she was lost in her thoughts didn't mean he was, too.

"Hopefully sometime next week. I talked to Cam, and she said she'd see if she could push some paperwork. Cullen promised to get my connection with the FBI re-established, as well."

He stiffened, and she noticed it immediately.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing, I just... you're going back to work with the FBI?"

The distinct absence of any allusion to their partnership didn't go by unnoticed, and she felt a stab of pain lance through her chest.

"I had hoped to... resume my position as the anthropological connection between the Jeffersonian and the Bureau, yes."

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"Why?" she demanded, forgetting all about the fact that he was the one that was supposed to be mad at her as she felt her temper flare. "The Hursts had absolutely nothing to do with my previous involvement with the FBI. They would have come after me regardless of what I was doing with my life. It was my decisions back _then_ that caused all of this to happen. I don't see why it should effect my job."

"Bones, that's not what I meant."

She tried to fight back the wave of agony that washed through her, but couldn't. The words she couldn't help but think exploded angrily as she struggled to keep the tears at bay. "Then why? Because I'm _disabled_? Because I'm _disfigured_? Because you don't want to be my partner anymore?"

"Bones, you are _not_ disabled, _or_ disfigured," he snapped, returning her anger right back to her. "I just... I don't understand how you can be so ready to get back to work, so soon after you've literally come back from the _dead_. Do you realize how dangerous your job was before? What's to say that something else won't happen?"

She gave a snort of disbelief. "The same day you showed up at your own funeral you started working a case with us, one with a murderer that had _already_ tried to kill us! And you're worried about _my_ safety?"

He was up out of his seat and pacing. "That's not the same thing! For God's sake, you just don't _get_ it! How do you think I'd feel if something happened to you _again_?"

"Why? Because you cared so much about your safety after you up and left me three years ago?"

"...What?"

"I get that I... that I hurt you. I _get_ it, Booth! And I'm sorry for it... I've already told you that! But I don't think you understand that... that I'm not going to just stop being who I am because something happened and I got hurt! It never stopped _you_!"

"Bones, I took a _bullet_. Your apartment got _blown up_."

"And what's the difference?"

"The difference is that if you... if you died again, I wouldn't be able to _live_."

She shook her head, and finally managed to bite her tongue. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream at him for being so one-sided. Didn't he realize that she felt the exact same way? What right did he have to put himself in constant danger if he was going to be so adamant about her staying out of it?

"I can't do this right now." She stumbled off of her stool in her haste, and was furious when she almost fell over. She snatched her coat off the back of his couch and slammed his apartment door behind her as she left.

Only when she was in the elevator did she let the first stray tears escape and slide in thin rivulets down her cheeks.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

She couldn't sleep that night.

In her mind, she kept replaying the conversations she'd had with Booth, and thinking of all the things she should have said, or shouldn't have said, or should have said a lot _better_.

Today had solved nothing, she realized helplessly. Those days in the hospital, after he'd woken up, had been a mere illusion of happiness. What did they mean if they had just been filled with lies and hidden realities? Because she'd made no attempt to explain then, when she'd had the best opportunities to do so... and now she was trapped halfway across town in an unfamiliar apartment, and she had no idea when she would next see him, or even if he'd ever want to see her again.

What was she _doing?_

Everything that hadn't already been in shambles before she'd gone to his apartment was now lying, shattered, at her feet. Angela was wrong... this was never going to work. How could she expect to fix all the damage she had done when all she could think about was how she would only do worse in the future... and she kept proving herself _right_? Today was certainly proof of that, after all.

She turned her head again, and read 11:51 AM off of her alarm clock. She sighed and buried her face in the pillow again.

_She was staring at the opposite wall, and trying to memorize the patterns in the wood. Back in her old apartment, she'd known every inch of her space. She'd known where everything was, and could navigate perfectly in the dark. _

_ Here, everything was out of proportion. The light bulbs in the lamps were duller, and the shades didn't keep out as much light as her old ones. The blankets on this bed smelled musty, and the sheets were white rather than soft tan. The mattress was stiff. Her pajama pants and tank top were new and scratchy. _

_ Temperance Brennan was not a woman who let her material possessions define her... but at that moment, she really missed her _stuff. _She missed the way that her row of artifacts on top of the bookcase in the corner created one long shadow like a skyline on the wall. She missed the blue glow of the dials on her old bedside clock. She missed the gold trim on her red comforter, and the mahogany bedposts. She missed the pictures Angela had given her, and the trinkets she'd gotten from Booth. She missed _everything_._

_ Cullen had mentioned possibly salvaging a few things, and she'd given him a list, but she didn't have much hope. At her forcible request, he had shown her the crime scene photos of her apartment. _

_ She hadn't recognized it, except for a few key features, like the framework on her larger furniture pieces. Most everything else was coated in dust or covered in chunks of unrecognizable rubble._

_ There was something about seeing her home ruined that had really crushed her. It was the last nail in the coffin... the last reminder that everything was over, and the life she had known had truly been taken from her. _

_ She had no home, now, and this cabin... this wasn't where she belonged. It was a place to sleep. To live, and eat, and breathe. But to her... it was nothing. Nothing compared to what she'd had before, and who she'd had it with._

_ Today had been her first day here, and she'd sleep-walked through all of it, unsure of what to do with herself. She had furniture; the place had come fully furnished. She had everything she needed, in fact. Everything but what she wanted most at the moment, which was a telephone, or a cell phone, or a computer with internet access._

_ Cullen had promised her the third one for their arrangement—where she would be able to continue writing her books from behind the scenes—but she somehow doubted that he'd follow through. He must realize that she was going to email Booth the instant she got on. _

_ There was a phone, but she'd found it useless the moment she'd been informed that it couldn't dial out except directly to Cullen. _

_ It was impossible not to remember the two weeks she had spent believing Booth was dead, and it was all she'd thought about for days. The agony of simply _living _had been unbearable. But while he had been shot protecting her—making her partially culpable in his death—she had been 'killed' in a blast that had nothing to do with him. It was only a small comfort, though, knowing that at least he didn't feel that horrible guilt and self-loathing—to go along with the ache of loss—that she had been faced with. _

_ She missed him already, along with Angela and Hodgins and the rest of her team. And she missed getting up every morning and going to the lab... seeing all of them, working with them, and spending time after a case celebrating with them. _

_ If she wasn't reminded daily that they were the ones who had been abandoned by her, she would think that she was back in that place where her parents and brother had left her... alone and sorrowful, with no one to help her or keep her company._

She rolled over again, fighting down the memory.

How had she gone from that woman to the one she was now? How had she turned away from wanting more than _anything_ to tell those she cared about that she was alive and safe?

She remembered. Too well, in fact...

But she wished she didn't.

She wished it was all easy, and she could just explain it all away in a manner that Booth would understand, so that they could go back to who they had been before, without all this fighting and anger.

It just wasn't that easy, though, and she knew it.

For the third time that day, she gave in to the tears, and gave up trying to fall asleep. What did it matter anymore?

**A/N: Share your thoughts, please?**


	31. Foreign Language

_Chapter 30: Foreign Language_

_May 20__th__, 2011_

After a third set of knocks on her best friend's new apartment door, Angela was starting to think Brennan just wasn't going to answer. Either that, or she'd taken off for some inexplicable reason and Angela was going to have to hunt her down.

She'd asked Cam for the day off, something she'd been doing a lot more lately, and she would prefer if things went according to plan. She didn't like using her vacation time, even if Cam seemed only too willing to hand it out this month. She had taken a fair number off herself, actually. It was a wonder there hadn't been a staff meeting about their team's recently lax behavior in the lab... hardly any work seemed to be getting done besides the bare minimum.

"Bren, come on!" she called, banging angrily on the hard wood. "Don't make me call Booth to tell him you've been kidnapped or something!"

The footsteps a moment later made her sigh in relief, and she stepped back just as Brennan opened the door, wearing dark jeans, a red blouse, and a blue towel on her head. It took her a second to adjust; no matter how many times she saw her, Angela still couldn't fully get over the change in her friend's appearance.

Brennan didn't look nearly as thrilled to see Angela as Angela was to see her, though.

"About time. You were starting to worry me, sweetie," she chided as she stepped past, uninvited, into the apartment.

"I was in the shower," Brennan stated, her eyebrows raised as if wondering why that statement was necessary.

"It's ten o'clock," Angela replied, looking around for a clock to point this out on, but not finding one anywhere. She sighed. "This just proves my reasoning for coming here even more, Bren."

"And what would that be?" Brennan asked distractedly, turning away as she pulled the towel off of her hair and shook out her still-wet locks. Angela followed her to the bathroom, and leaned against the doorframe as her friend combed through it.

"We are going shopping."

Brennan paused what she was doing for a moment, meeting Angela's eyes in the mirror, and then shook her head and promptly turned on the hair dryer.

She was desperately curious to find out what had happened the night before, but she could tell, just from the way Brennan was acting, that she didn't want to talk about it. She'd seemed so flustered, so un-Brennan like, the night before when she'd called and asked if she could borrow Angela's car. She'd been only too willing, knowing at once that it was Booth related, and she'd gotten Jack to follow her over and give her a ride back in one of his many sports cars. She'd woken up this morning, planning to come here for two reasons. First, she needed to discover how things had gone the night before, and second, she needed to get her friend back out and among the world. This apartment wasn't going to furnish itself with decorations and accessories, after all.

When she'd seen her car parked back in the driveway as she came out of the house, though, she'd known at once that something must have gone wrong. Otherwise, the car would still be gone. And how had Brennan even gotten back to her place? She didn't like the idea that her friend had been more willing to call a taxi service than to simply knock and ask her for a ride.

No, something had definitely gone wrong.

And the way Brennan was warning her with her eyes right now, as if she knew exactly what Angela was thinking, was only reinforcing that idea in her mind.

When the dryer snapped off, the silence was almost deafening. Brennan occupied herself by styling her hair and then moving on to her makeup, and it took Angela a few minutes to realize just what was wrong with that picture.

"Bren, are you planning on... going somewhere?"

"Actually, I was planning to go get a car today," she answered stiffly, not meeting Angela's eyes. So this was how it was going to go, then?

"You can do that any day, Bren. Right now I'm asking you to _please_ go shopping with me. I can't bear to see this apartment so... _empty_. Besides, you know that I have great taste."

Brennan tipped her head to the side in her trademark _I'm thinking about it but I'm probably going to say yes_ move, and Angela grinned and didn't give her a chance to answer.

"Excellent. I'm going to make a list, and you can help me with it once you're done in here."

Hesitantly she nodded, and Angela gave a reassuring nod before backing out and giving Brennan her space, which she sensed her friend was in need of at the moment. She was going to have to be careful about pushing her... there were new limits that she needed to test, and test carefully, before she was confident again with just how much she goad her friend into doing things she didn't initially want to do.

There had always been limits... but this was different.

When Brennan returned to the living room, where Angela was seated on the lonely sofa with a pad of paper and a Jeffersonian pen, she looked completely different. The scarring was almost invisible, albeit she was much paler. She did look much more like herself, though, and Angela tried not to make it obvious that she had noticed the difference. No matter how much Bren might pretend to be unfazed by things, she knew that her friend had a keen awareness for them. She'd be paying attention to every reaction, both from her friends and from people she didn't know. That was just how Brennan would be, and she knew it only too well.

"I've come up with a list," she said as smoothly as she could manage, holding up the pad, the first sheet of which was now filled with two columns of the artist's thin, spindly writing. "It's quite long, I know, but I've got my credit card and a full tank of gas, so we should be good."

Brennan blinked for a second, a frown forming on her face. "Ange, you aren't spending your money on me."

"You're right, I'm not. Technically most of it is Hodgins'. You can thank him later, if you like."

Brennan opened her mouth and then shut it again, her brow furrowed and confusion written on her face. "No, that's not what I meant at all. I have my own money I can spend, and I intend to."

"And have all the channels been followed to let you access your account? Oh, and do you want to hand your credit card over to a cashier so she can recognize your name?"

Brennan's scowl only deepened. "Going off of that philosophy, I should just stay home where there's _no_ chance of anyone recognizing me."

"Brennan. This is a gift from Hodgins and I. Okay? Just... take it, alright?"

"You and Jack have already done enough," she protested. "You've been _through_ enough, because of me. I won't add this to the list."

"I already forgave you, sweetie," she reminded her.

"But Hodgins didn't. We both know that, so don't pretend. And besides, I know about his donation. It was over the top."

Angela's eyes widened. "How did you find out about that?"

"Gina kept me in the loop about the charities I donated to in my will. When another member of the Jeffersonian suddenly donates several million dollars to one of the foster child scholarship agencies that I benefited, I hear about it."

Angela nodded. "Well, it was the least we could do after they read your will, Bren. What did you expect Hodgins to do, sit there on all his wealth and not do anything? He just... he wanted to do something that would have made you happy."

A sudden mist had come over her eyes, and she blinked a few times to clear it. "I was very happy," she whispered softly. "And I was very... sad."

Ange sighed. She knew that Brennan had cared about them, all that time she'd been gone. And she knew that her friend had been afraid of so many things... some of which she was pretty sure she still didn't know the full details of. She wished Booth would see a bit more of this... see how Brennan felt about what she'd done. Because her guilt, right now, was written all over her face. And she _knew_, without even asking, that Booth had yet to see it.

"I know, sweetie, I know. Can we just... please go shopping now? I'll compromise... you can buy us both lunch. How's that sound?"

Brennan stifled a laugh, but it still came out slightly, and she clearly couldn't avoid the half-smile that tilted up the corner of her mouth. _You win_, her eyes said, and Angela gleefully grabbed her arm and dragged her out the door.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"I'm fairly certain those aren't necessary," Brennan said for the sixth or so time since they'd entered the store. "It's over seven months until Christmas, Ange, and I don't even decorate. You know that."

Ange ignored her, tossing the roll of fluffy green and silver garland into the carriage next to the package of lights and the box of ornaments.

"They're on sale," Ange explained with a wave of her hand, "And anyways, whenever Christmas comes around, you're always finding excuses like 'it's too crowded to shop for decorations' or 'I don't have time.' This way, you'll be prepared."

"I don't celebrate Christmas," she said flatly.

"With us, you do. And besides, maybe this year things will be different."

"I don't see how."

"Just... give it time."

"I'm not going to be celebrating with Booth, if that's what you're thinking, Ange. It's not happening."

Finally... she'd gotten Brennan to mention him without having to bring him up herself. She had been starting to think it was impossible.

"I never said anything about Booth, sweetie." She left it short and to the point, pushing the cart down another aisle and looking through an assortment of picture frames.

As expected, it didn't take long for Brennan to start talking again.

"Clearly you implied it, though."

"Implied what?"

Brennan sighed in obvious frustration. "That you thought I would be spending Christmas this year with Booth."

"And why not?" Angela challenged calmly, picking up a frame and flipping it over to check the price tag, even though she really didn't care. Just about the only way to get Brennan to talk about something she didn't want to... was to act completely disinterested.

"It just won't happen," she answered evasively, and just like that Angela was back at square one.

"What do you think of this one?" she asked, changing the subject and holding up the frame for her friend to inspect. "I think it would go nice on that table I picked out for the corner next to the bookcase. We can go through my archive of pictures later and you can find one you like for it."

Brennan nodded distractedly, and didn't seem much interested in anything else they looked at. Angela should have expected it, but still, it was disheartening.

The only time that she seemed to show any real engagement in what they were doing was when they made their way into the electronics department. She refused to look at the television sets for some unfathomable reason, but spent a half an hour picking out CDs to replace her lost collection.

Angela had picked up a Foreigner CD that she remembered seeing in her friend's apartment, but Brennan had taken it back out of the cart when she thought the artist wasn't looking. She didn't know what any of it meant, but she had a feeling that it all related back to Booth in some way, shape, or form. Regardless, she didn't ask questions... for the moment, at least.

They spent two hours or so in a department store after they finished sorting through the mismatched assortment at the thrift store that Ange usually frequented for all her decorating needs, and filled a cart with bath supplies, a new comforter, sheets, pillows, and several clocks, including a nice new alarm clock that Brennan seemed satisfied with.

Towards the end, as they were leaving the store, they passed a newspaper rack, and Angela caught a glimpse of the headline: _'New Leads in FBI Investigation?'_ above a large image of Booth and Brennan sitting on a bench with coffee cups. She recognized the picture as one from another article about a case the two had solved together.

Brennan didn't see it, luckily, and Angela steered her quickly to the car, where they struggled to fit everything that wouldn't make it in the trunk into the backseat of her vehicle.

"We're going to have to make a stop at your apartment," Ange said as she shut the back door heavily.

"Isn't this... enough?"

"Nope, not yet," Angela said with a smirk. "Besides, I'm having far too much fun to stop now. Maybe we should stop at the Diner on the way back out for some lunch?"

"No," Bren said too quickly, surprising her. At the look she got, she bit her lip and then said quickly, "I just... don't feel like eating there today. How about we try somewhere new?"

She might as well have said _"How about we try somewhere that has no Booth memories associated with it?"_ Angela nodded in simple agreement, knowing that there was no point in arguing. Questioning her friend now was just going to lead to another hour or so of uncomfortable silence where no question, Booth related or not, would be welcome.

It took longer than Angela had been expecting for them to cart all of their purchases up to the apartment, and when they were finally finished she was both exhausted and starving. Brennan didn't seem much better off, although she wouldn't admit it, and they drove around for a while before Angela found a nice looking restaurant that wasn't too crowded.

Brennan got a pasta dish, and Angela ordered herself the chicken parmesan, which turned out to be far better than she'd been expecting. She might actually have to come back here sometime with Hodgins, she thought to herself irrelevantly.

"When do you think you'll be coming back to the Jeffersonian?" she asked conversationally, not expecting the reaction she got at all.

Brennan stiffened at once, and then shrugged as if the question hadn't bothered her. "I have no idea."

"Cam mentioned that you were very eager to be back, Bren." Her tone held a warning to it, but evidently it went right past her friend.

"I'm not in any rush... in fact, I might hold off for a while. Clearly the lab has been able to function in my absence. I'm sure Dr. Bray and Dr. Nigel-Murray are doing very well as your forensic anthropologists. You hardly need three to work on Limbo files."

Her concern was only expanding with every word that came out of Brennan's mouth.

"But neither of them are liaisons to the FBI. They aren't _you_."

"And what I used to do is no longer necessary at the Jeffersonian, Angela. I'll be happy to fill a vacancy should one open up. I've already called Cam and told her as much."

A pit had opened in her stomach, and she no longer felt hungry. In fact, she almost felt nauseous.

"Sweetie, what happened last night?"

"Nothing," she answered dismissively.

"Don't give me that, Bren. I can tell when you're lying, and right now, that is complete bull that you're feeding me. Why don't you _trust_ me?"

"There's nothing to tell, Angela! Nothing!"

She shoved her dish away from her.

"Fine. If you don't want to tell me, then that's just _fine_. But if I asked Booth I bet I'd get a straighter answer."

Brennan's eyes widened. "Angela, I don't want..."

"Don't want what? Me to find out what actually happened? Because clearly something really has you upset, and you won't even tell _me _about it."

"I'm sorry," Brennan whispered at last, and Angela knew it was the first honest thing she'd said. It left her with her head buried in her hands, with no idea what to say or do. God, why did communicating with Brennan have to be like struggling to speak a foreign language?

"I know you are, Bren. Could you just... tell me what happened, if it's really so terrible? I can help you... I always have in the past."

"To be honest... I really just don't _want_ to talk about it, Ange. It's not that... that I don't trust you."

She sighed again, shaking her head sadly. "Alright, sweetie. But... can you promise me that when you _are_ ready... you'll come to me?"

She got a sad little smile in return. "Of course, Ange. There's... no one else I would go to for advice."

Well, at least that was a step in the right direction.

As they had agreed, Brennan snatched the bill the moment it arrived, and paid for their lunch. Back on the shopping track again, things weren't quite the same. There was more quiet between them this time around, but it didn't seem to be as uncomfortable as Angela had been anticipating. It was almost like they'd come to a common point, and now they were just trying to figure out how to get to the next safe zone.

She could only pray that Brennan would hold to her word, though. Whatever it was that had gone down between her friend and Booth the night before... it might have had catastrophic effects on their relationship.

And she needed to know the details in order to start the mending process.

Regardless of what Brennan said, Angela intended to make sure that her friend didn't spend this Christmas alone. Or any Christmas after this one, for that matter.


	32. Understandable

**A/N: I apologize for the slow update on the chapter before this one, and for forgetting to explain it then-I was away for college orientation, and while I had a chapter of In the Worst of Times queued up and ready to update, I forgot to prepare one for this story as well. My new updating schedule for this story is going to be Mondays and Fridays, just so everyone knows. **

**I hope you are all still enjoying the story :)**_  
_

_Chapter 31: Understandable_

_May 21__st__, 2011_

If there was one thing Booth had learned over the years, it was that every situation, no matter how tumultuous or simple, resulted in a ridiculous amount of paperwork. It was Saturday, and while he'd been hoping for a chance to spend more time with Parker this weekend, Rebecca had promised that he could have his son spend next Saturday night and the entirety of that Sunday with him, so long as he consented to letting her and her latest boyfriend take the boy camping in Maine this week.

He had been hesitant to let Parker go when he had yet to run a background check on this 'boyfriend,' but Rebecca had managed to convince him that it would all be fine. Apparently they had been dating for several months, and he just hadn't been paying attention... something that she didn't hesitate to point out in her expectedly frustrated tone of voice.

He'd been trying to plow through the massive pile of work on his coffee table since he'd gotten up that morning, but nothing seemed to have changed. He'd filled out a few of the simpler forms, but every time he tried to get himself to start digging through the rest, he lost all will to do anything but sit and stare blankly at the words until they blurred together.

It was hard to do anything when he had a cloud hanging over him like a physical disapproving presence that constantly informed him he needed to solve the problem with Brennan.

He knew that he had to do something about it, but _what_... well, that was the problem. Because he didn't actually agree with her, and he still felt furious over a good deal of the things he'd been put through that still hadn't been explained to him.

And what he couldn't understand was why she didn't just tell him the _truth_. Hadn't he shown her over the years that he could be understanding, that he would listen and try to comprehend anything that she told him? Why was she so afraid to explain?

Not to mention how she thought it perfectly reasonable to go back to working dangerous cases so soon after her return from the _dead_. No matter what she said, it was nothing compared to how he'd taken a bullet for her. He was FBI. He was supposed to get shot, and blown up, and put through any other sort of hell. He'd signed up for it, and he was prepared for it. Not to mention his recovery in all those situations had been relatively simple.

With her, none of that was true. She was a scientist, and while he knew only too well that she could look after herself, he had never liked the idea of her being face to face with all the dangers that he dealt with. And when she'd been his partner, that had been exactly what had happened. Kenton, the Gravedigger, that crazy Harbinger doctor... they were all situations that she wouldn't have faced if she hadn't been working with the FBI. And on top of that was the undeniable guilt he'd been feeling for the past year.

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't been feeling responsible for her death. And that weight hadn't been something he could live with... it had made his life hell, on top of the fact that she wasn't _there_. How was he supposed to survive if anything else happened because of him? Sure, the Hursts really _didn't_ have anything to do with him, and Sweets would say there was no way he could have saved her from the bombing, but he still felt something. Like he could have done more. Like next time... it would be the same. And he would only feel worse because he hadn't kept her from going back to work with him.

So yes, he didn't want her to return as his partner. Or as any form of associate to the FBI. In all honesty, he wanted her to stay safely locked up somewhere, preferably his apartment, where he could count on seeing her every day.

But that wouldn't make her happy, and he knew that he'd never be able to live with that either. He had no idea what sort of compromise he might be able to find, but he knew that it didn't involve her running around with a gun chasing criminals.

Could he really stop her, though?

He scowled at that thought, and then flipped to the next sheet in the latest packet he was attempting to fill out, barely taking in a single word of it.

He couldn't stop thinking about the files he had read, either.

It wasn't even that he felt guilty for reading them... not entirely. She had been dead at the time, and he had been doing what was necessary to try and catch her killer. If she found out, she would have to understand that, even if she was understandably angry to begin with.

What really bothered him about the files was more about what he'd read in them.

It made him sick, just thinking of it, but he couldn't seem to stop.

He wanted to kill those men. Each and every one of them. He had their names written down... and he had the resources to get to them, too. Even if he found out some of them were in prison, he was sure he could find a way to handle them. Max had done it, and he could do it just the same.

But a part of him was holding him back from going through with it. After all she'd suffered, he still _knew_ that she wouldn't want him to do it. She would want justice, not vengeance. She'd want them all locked up after a fair trial, just the way he was sure she wouldn't want him to kill the Hursts.

He sighed and buried his head in his hands.

When she had been fifteen, he had been nineteen, and already headed to the army. It was ridiculous, and she'd say 'horribly irrational,' but he wished some force had taken him to Ohio, and brought him into her life. Saved her.

But it was stupid to dwell on something he could never change, and he was aware of that.

He just didn't know what to do.

As ridiculous as it was to think about how things could be different, after all, it was ridiculous to think that this was the end of it. Now that he knew that her would-be killers had been abused _with her_ in a foster home, it meant that everything was going to come out. And he knew her well enough to know that it wouldn't end well. He remembered far too well just how well things had gone at trial in the past when they had pushed each other to say things they hadn't wanted to. Her with Michael Stires and him having to say she could have killed Kirby. He wasn't likely to forget either incident, and she probably wasn't likely to either.

So what did that mean for the trial that they would have to face sometime in the future? They'd both be testifying, and he didn't even want to imagine the sort of questions the defense lawyer would throw at her to try and get the Hursts off.

He hated the very idea.

Just like her being out in the field again... the courtroom was yet another place where he couldn't fully protect her.

More than anything... he just didn't want her to get hurt anymore, in any way.

It killed him that he might not be able to protect her.

His phone ringing was a welcome distraction and he snatched it up and answered, "Booth," far too quickly, and with probably a bit too much desperation tainting his voice.

"...Uh, hi," Angela's voice greeted him. "Are you... busy or something?"

"No, the complete opposite in fact. What's up?"

She didn't seem like she believed him when she hesitated before saying, "It's about Brennan."

His eyebrows flew up, and at once he knew that this could be one of two things. One, Angela was just as concerned as he was. Two... she was going to kill him because she had taken Brennan's side in the argument they'd had the night before.

"We need to talk."

That didn't tell him anything about what to expect, but he agreed to meet her at the Diner in fifteen minutes, and eagerly ditched the paperwork, leaving it scattered about his living room and grabbing his keys.

She was already waiting when he stepped through the door, and her eyes were locked on him before the bell overhead even rang to announce his entrance. She motioned to him as if he hadn't already seen her, and he stepped around a plump waitress and slid into the booth seat across the table from her.

"What's with the sudden meeting, Ange? Did something happen?"

"It's more like what _hasn't_ happened that's bothering me, Booth. And normally I'd be all content to let Brennan take her time and figure things out before she came to me and spilled her guts, but this time I'm worried that that isn't going to happen, and so I want to hear things right from you, because I know you'll tell me. Won't you?"

He blinked a couple times, and let his open mouth snap shut. He wasn't entirely sure what she was talking about, but he figured he might as well take a stab at it.

"I'll... try to help you?"

"Excellent. Could you maybe explain to me why Brennan is all freaked out and won't talk about what happened at your place two nights ago?"

"If she won't talk to you, how do you even know about that?"

"My car."

Realization dawned, and he realized that Brennan had, indeed, been driving Angela's car that night.

"Right," he sighed. "I'm not entirely sure I should tell you anything."

She groaned in frustration and tapped her long fingernails on the tabletop.

"I get that it's... your business. And I have no right to be demanding anything from you. I have a bit of a right to be demanding it from Brennan, after the hell she put us all through... but not from you. But I want to help. And I understand her... even if sometimes she's a bit challenging to get through to."

He let out a short laugh of agreement, and nodded. "You're not kidding." He shook his head a few more times, just staring at a speck of discoloration on the plastic table, and then he sighed again. What the hell, why not? If she could help him, then she might just be his last shot at this. "It started out okay. I thought she was going to tell me everything... make me understand why she wouldn't have told me she was alive."

"But?" Angela probed cautiously.

He rested his head in his hands. "But she didn't. I mean... obviously she's sorry. And she meant it when she said she had wanted to tell us at the start, back when Cullen was keeping her completely isolated. She couldn't have contacted us then no matter what. I get that. But after that... she fed me something about wanting to protect all of us, and when I confronted her about how I'd rather have known and been in danger... it all sort of... exploded."

"You got angry with her?"

He glared at the spot on the table for a moment longer, and then nodded.

He expected Angela to be frustrated, or at the very least disapproving, but instead he felt a hand rest on his forearm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes raised up and met her dark brown ones, and found that she was staring at him with nothing but understanding.

"I've wanted to strangle her on various occasions. Not all of them in the past week, either. She can be pretty _damn_ stubborn when she wants to be."

"Yeah, she can."

"But, Booth... she'll come around. To you, I mean. I don't know how long it will be before she starts being honest with me again... but I know for a fact that she can't live without you. And if she finds out I've been talking to you about her, she might be too mad to tell me anything for a very long while. The thing is, though, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her benefit... for all of our benefits. Did anything else happen after that, though?" she added, her attention returning to the topic at hand.

"We talked for a while... after she finished crying—" surprisingly Angela didn't seem bothered by this fact either— "And then she mentioned that she was planning to go back to working with the FBI, and things... didn't go well after that."

For the first time, Angela's gaze changed to one of confusion, and he felt the need to explain.

"I told her that I wasn't sure it was a good idea."

And suddenly Angela's eyes were huge and her hands were flat on the table as she leaned forward.

"That's why!" she choked out. "God, that explains _so_ much..."

"...Ange?"

She shook her head to clear it. "Booth, I dragged Brennan out shopping yesterday, and when I brought up her returning to work, she shrugged it off and said she might not even come back at all. When I tried to get her to talk about it, she wouldn't give me a straight answer."

"Wait, so now she doesn't want to come back at _all?"_ he stammered, "But... she can't do that! I mean... hell, you know Bones; she has to be _doing_ things. She... she loves the Jeffersonian."

"Exactly. Which was one of my main motivations in bringing you here today. I can't let her start isolating herself like this... once she gets started, she'll never open up. And it scares me, Booth, because I can't lose her. Not again."

"You aren't the only one," he sighed. "What do you want me to do about it, though? I mean... I can't pretend that I'm not still upset with her."

"And you've got every reason to be. No one blames you for that. But there are a lot of things that she... told me, before all this happened, that I think would be beneficial for you to hear."

"Like what?"

"Sorry, Booth. You need to hear them from _her_. I can't take that role away... it's too important. She'll explain everything if we help her to it. Just... make sure you give her the opportunities. Don't shut her out completely just because you're upset. Give her a chance to be honest."

"I've given her lots of opportunities, Ange, and she hasn't taken them."

"Because she's _afraid_. We both know that, right?"

He hesitantly nodded. Brennan had told him that herself, and he believed her.

"It's only been a week. She'll come around. Oh, one thing, though. Before I forget. Make sure you invite her to eat here sometime soon."

"Why?"

"Just a theory. I think it will help her. I know the two of you will figure this out... and no matter what, just remember that regardless of what she might tell any of us, she does care about you... love you, even. Don't forget that, because I know you knew it before she left us, and I know you still believe it, somewhere in there."

She didn't give him a chance to respond, standing up and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, a one-armed hug, and a warm smile before she turned and walked out, leaving him sitting at the abandoned table with no idea of what to do next.


	33. Intruder

**A/N: I'm so sorry, I forgot to update yesterday, after promising to do so every Monday and Friday. Things have been sort of busy between my other stories and college stuff, but still, I should have had it up on time. I need to start writing myself reminder notes... **

**Anyways, I hope you are still enjoying the story :)**_  
_

_Chapter 32: Intruder_

_May 21__st__, 2011_

Her apartment looked strange. Almost like she was living in someone else's home... like she was an intruder that had broken in through the window, and was waiting for the door knob to start jingling at any moment before she made her escape.

Angela had done a gorgeous job, of course. She hadn't expected any less, and the decorations were wonderful and perfectly accented... but she didn't feel at home among them.

For the first time since her original apartment had been destroyed, she had opened the boxes of salvaged items. She'd never bothered, back in the cabin... but now she felt a strange desperation to have any sort of connection to her old world.

Her kitchen had been the most protected, for whatever reason, and most of her dishes and silverware had survived the following fire. It was now that she gently removed them from their newspaper encased protection and set them, one by one, on her countertop, running her fingers over the slightly-raised designs and just _remembering_.

_She was stepping around the table, setting steaming bowls of macaroni and cheese in front of both of their places as he grinned up at her._

_ She was dumping Thai food out onto plates at her coffee table while he sat to her right on the couch._

_ ...She was standing in her kitchen with an empty bag on the counter, and a dish full of fresh Wong Fu's on a dish, getting ready to settle in for the night. She turned, walked up the hall, and made her way into the bedroom. She returned the hallway, walking back towards the kitchen, thinking about how delicious the food smelled..._

She broke off from the memory, gasping slightly and trying not to let it take hold again. Absently, she ran her fingers over the edge of the dish again, and set it on top of the stack.

_A small white dish was next in the pile, and she took it in her thin fingers and dunked it into the scalding soap water. Any other temperature and it would mean a night of scrubbing the floors in the house until they sparkled. Her hands were used to it by now... but not enough, clearly, as the dish tumbled from her grasp, her fingers unable to find purchase on the slippery surface. It clanged as it hit the edge of the counter and tumbled to the tile below, shattering. _

She shivered as she forced that reminder away as well. Why was it so hard to escape from her past? Why was it so hard to live in the present?

Why was everything so goddamn _hard?_

She wanted to call Booth. Wanted to do _something_. After yesterday, she'd felt... hollow, almost. Angela had meant well. She always did. But it hadn't helped Brennan in the slightest, to get out and do things. Not when she still had her many arguments with Booth hanging over her head.

Of course he was angry with her. What had she been expecting?

Would he still be angry, though, if she told him everything? If she poured out all her reasoning, all of her fears, all of her irrational concerns? Would he see it her way, or would he be just as angry and frustrated as he had been when she'd explained the few things that she already had?

Was she willing to take that risk?

And in the mean time, what exactly was she going to do? She could always keep writing, and just stay here, in her apartment. Eventually things would work out just the same as she had been planning them to while she was gone. If she pulled back, eventually they'd stop trying to get her to come around. And Booth would be free to move on, even more so than he had been while she was dead to the world.

A part of her was screaming, though, and she closed her eyes. She didn't want it, not truly. Not anymore than she had wanted it the day she had erased the email she'd planned on sending and made up her mind not to contact any of them. She had always wanted them in her life. She had always wanted that feeling of family, and the closeness and companionship that she had gained with Booth.

She had never wanted to lose her best friend, even that night outside the Hoover when she had told him that she couldn't start a relationship with him.

A large portion of her had been begging, that night, for her to just say _yes_, in fact. But she hadn't. Couldn't.

It had all made so much sense then... and she'd explained it to herself a million times over the past year. So why was it that now all that reasoning seemed ridiculous and unfounded? Why was it that all she wanted to do was forget it had all happened and go back to the way things had been before that night?

Why was it that she wished she had said yes, regardless of the consequences that she would have faced?

She sighed and forcefully pushed the box away, grabbing another one and dumping it out on the floor. Most of this stuff was from her bedroom. A good portion of her belongings had been destroyed, and many of her artifacts had been donated to the Jeffersonian, but these were the few that had survived.

Her jewelry box had made it through, and she opened it carefully and pulled out the first pair of earrings that caught her eye. They were her mother's, and the same ones she'd been wearing in New Orleans. She held one up to the light, remembering the way he had given it back to her that day in the lab, with all of them sitting around and discussing the case.

If it hadn't been for him, she would probably still be down there, in prison. There was no way the police would have cooperated with her on their own, if Booth hadn't pushed and been there to help her work through it.

Next she found a few of her old chunky necklaces.

_Tibet, England, Sri Lanka, Argentina,_ she thought in her head as she took each one out in turn. She hadn't worn any jewelry since the day of the explosion, she realized. For a second she hesitated, and then she took the one she'd acquired in Guatemala right before her first case as Booth's partner and carefully clasped it around her neck, letting the heavy stones hang against her porcelain skin.

It felt strange, but good at the same time.

One small piece of home in the midst of all of this.

Feeling a sense of resolve, she pushed herself back to her feet and stepped over to one of the many new pieces of furniture, which had a wall of empty frames hanging behind it. Ange had promised to help her fill them, but she had a different idea.

One by one, she pulled the glass loose from each frame.

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

A knock at her door startled her.

She knew right away, from the knock, that it wasn't Angela. So she was hesitant as she got up from the floor, hanging the last frame back on it's hook and cautiously moving to peer through the peep hole.

And then she was reeling back in shock.

Booth was standing outside her door, waiting patiently.

She wasn't entirely sure what this meant, but she knew that she couldn't ignore him. She just... couldn't.

When she opened the door she realized a little too late that she had been working for the past few hours, and probably looked like a complete mess. She hadn't put any makeup on, either.

His eyes trailed over her face for a moment, but he had on one of his trademark crooked grins that put her at ease far too simply, somehow erasing her insecurities. It was something only he could do.

"Hey, Bones."

"Uh... hi," she stammered, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear and trying to discreetly smooth out the rest of it. "What are you... doing here?"

"We got off on the wrong foot the other day. I thought maybe it would be a good idea if we... stopped pressuring each other and just tried to do one thing at a time."

She blinked a few times, unsure of what to say. She couldn't believe he was even here.

"Thank you," she whispered at last. She wasn't even sure why she was saying it, but clearly he understood on some level what she meant, because he nodded, his eyes twinkling for the first time since she'd seen him again. She felt a smile break across her face in relief.

For a moment, his eyes wandered away from her, taking in the apartment behind her, and she realized that she should probably invite him in. Stumbling out of the way, she motioned for him to step over the threshold, and he laughed slightly to himself as he moved past her and looked around in clear approval.

"Wow. Nice place, Bones."

"It was mostly Angela."

"Somehow I should have guessed that." He stepped over to the wall she'd been slaving over for the past few hours and stood in front of it. "Wow."

She bit her lip and then slowly moved over to stand beside him.

"This was you, wasn't it?" he asked, turning to her in amazement.

"I... yeah."

The frames, now without their glass, hung in a pattern over the small table. In the middle of each one hung a piece of her jewelry, accented with flowers that hung out over the edges.

"You still had... all of these?"

"Yeah. They... survived a lot better than my Jazz collection." She motioned to the new stereo system and the much smaller collection of CDs that accompanied it. She'd only managed to replace some of them. Most she had a feeling would require some internet shopping to reacquire.

"I know," he said, and she was reminded painfully that he had been to her apartment in the wake of the explosion. He'd probably seen the remains of all her belongings, the CD collection included.

Silence fell for a long moment, and she didn't know what to say to him to change it. But he seemed to have something in mind all on his own.

"Hey, would you like to... go to the Diner for some... supper?"

Her eyes widened in shock, and she found herself nodding without even giving herself time to catch up with what he was saying. All she knew was that he was asking her to eat with him, at the place that she associated solely with the two of them together, and for now that was all she needed.

One small step towards maybe mending some of the bridges she'd broken in the past year. This was a chance, that he was clearly offering to her. She wasn't going to pass it up.

"I'd love to."

He grinned. "Great."

~BxBxBxBxBxB~

"So then, Angela tells me that she'll be choosing the color scheme as well."

"Of course she does. Out of curiosity, what has she come up with so far?"

"Apparently she thinks the kitchen would look nice in blue with a white border, and my living room would be lovely in a dark red."

"Well, Angela knows best."

"She helped me out with my... old apartment as well. So I trust she knows what I like."

He nodded, popping another French fry into his mouth. "Besides, she's having fun. You can't deny her that."

"Nope, I can't." She hesitated a moment, glancing between him and his dish, and then made up her mind and snatched a fry, dipping it into his ketchup and biting down on it. He looked at her in amazement, and then laughed.

"You'd be surprised at how much I missed that."

And one comment was all it took to plunge them back into uncomfortable silence.

But yet, he seemed unfazed—mostly—and he pushed his dish towards her, motioning for her to help herself to the fries as he called for the check.

Unsure of what this meant, but relieved that at least they weren't fighting, she cautiously took another long fry and munched on it, watching his face carefully. There was no way he had forgiven her for the other night, so clearly he was planning to find out at some point. And if he was going to wait for her to tell him, she wondered how long that gave her. She had no idea how she was going to make him understand, or even if she _wanted _to.

"I thought maybe we could stop by the Jeffersonian," he suggested after he'd handed the check back to the waitress, who had been decidedly shocked to see the both of them. Brennan vaguely remembered her.

He wanted to visit the lab, though, which made her question his motives. The other day he'd been adamant about her _not _returning to work as his partner. Did this mean he'd changed his mind about that as well, or that he was just trying to get her to open up to him?

She hated not knowing what to believe around him. It used to be so _simple_.

But she'd be lying if she said she didn't want to see the Jeffersonian again. She'd missed it so much during the past year that she'd found herself dreaming herself back there far too often, only to wake up disappointed and feeling an indescribable level of loss radiating through her.

On the ride over, though, she was tense. It had been such a long time, and she knew that things would have changed. It was unlikely that her old world would be arranged the same way, and her office would have been emptied and taken over by someone else by now as well.

What if the changes just made her feel even more isolated?

But the moment she walked through the sliding glass doors, she knew that none of that mattered.

The air was cool and refreshing, and everything was shining and sterile... the light glimmering off of every surface from the skylights overhead. It was nearly nighttime now, but there was still some brightness to the sky for the moment. The platform was there just like it had always been, and she could almost imagine that she was here for a normal day of work, and had just arrived.

She felt naked without her lab jacket and her ID, but a moment later Angela was shouting her name and dashing down from the platform to throw her arms around her, and it was forgotten.

"Sweetie! What are you doing here?"

"I decided to come by and... visit."

Angela cast Booth a look that was far too knowing, and then pulled Brennan into another hug. "I'm so glad! Does this mean you're coming back soon?"

"Maybe," she hedged cautiously, casting Booth a sideways glance and reading his expression. He seemed pleased with her response, and she answered Angela's grin with one of her own, feeling reassured. Perhaps coming back sooner than later would be a good idea.

Glancing past her friend, though, she saw what had once been in her office. And to her utmost shock, it didn't look much changed at all. Markedly, it was a little _empty_... but her old furniture was still there, as well as some of her artifacts.

"Oh," Angela said, noticing where she was looking, "Wendell moved into your office, just to have some space to organize. He didn't actually change much of it, as you can probably see. A mark of respect to his old mentor, I think," she added softly.

"Dr. Brennan?" And that was Wendell himself, followed by Nigel-Murray. Both of them disembarked the platform, coming over to the little gathering with grins on their faces. "It's so great to have you back!" Wendell exclaimed, hugging her without waiting for a response.

"Marvelous, truly," Nigel-Murray said, taking a different approach and settling for shaking her hand vigorously. "We didn't see much of you in the hospital, Dr. Brennan. So glad to have you here again."

"Yes, well... I'm not back just yet."

"Why aren't we working, people?" Cam's voice interrupted, coming from behind the two anthropologists. "Oh," she gasped when she saw Brennan standing there. "Oh!"

She, too, moved forward for a quick hug. "And does this mean I can start pushing the paperwork forward again..?"

"I... yes, I suppose so," she asserted.

"Excellent," Cam said, not bothering to hide her relief. "Now, if the rest of you could get back to solving what killed our latest Limbo skeleton while I talk to Dr. Brennan..?"

They took the hint and dispatched, except for Angela, who didn't look like she was budging anytime soon.

"Booth," the boss said firmly, motioning with her eyes. He sighed and then hooked his arm through Angela's and led the way back on to the platform, leaving Brennan alone with Cam.

"Why the sudden change of plans?" she asked as soon as they were gone.

"I realized that I really do want to come back."

"And this never had anything to do with Booth?"

She frowned. "He is—was—my partner, Cam. And solving murders directly correlated to that, if you remember."

Cam gave her a look that she couldn't really decipher, and then sighed, apparently deciding not to question it. "Alright, I'll get to work on seeing that you have your job _and _your office back as soon as possible. Just make sure this is really what you want, okay?"

"I'm already sure."

"Alright," she said, not sounding like she really believed her at all. "You can't work on cases until you're fully reinstated as an employee, but feel free to hang out here if you like... I think it's helpful to the team, having you back. They've really missed you. Things changed when you were gone. A lot."

"I know," she murmured. The physical appearance had indeed changed in several ways, but they both knew Cam meant it in a different way.

"I'm counting on you to make it right again. Don't disappoint me... or them."

She turned and headed back to her own office, and Brennan looked around until she spotted Booth leaned on the edge of the platform just like the old days, watching the team as they milled about the tables. She wished she could join them, but for now... she didn't belong.

Maybe soon she'd have her place back, though. And not just on the team... but among the people that had become her family... the people she had abandoned.

**Let me know what you thought, please :D**


	34. Protective Instinct

_Chapter 33: Protective Instinct_

_May 21__st__, 2011_

Angela had taken a cab rather than hunting down Hodgins to get the keys to their car, and so it was a bit of a walk from the bank she'd been dropped off at—even living with an exceedingly wealthy man, it seemed that cash in hand did go sparse on occasion, and required replenishing.

It was strange, just strolling down the sidewalk in the slightly crisp spring air. Overhead, the sky was a brilliantly bold blue, barely marred by the few lines of airplane trails.

Her high-heeled boots, a new purchase, clicked satisfactorily with ever step, and she glanced in store windows as she passed, contemplating whether or not to return after her lunch with Brennan to pick up the few things that had caught her eye.

Which was strange in itself.

This past year... it had been like living in a bubble. She could not recall a single instance in which the idea of shopping had sounded appealing. She had fought through it when it became necessary, but hadn't enjoyed it. Before losing her best friend, shopping would have been a treat. She would have hunted down sales like a lioness after prey, and gladly forced Bren to tag along with her and give opinions. Because it always seemed that Brennan herself did little purchasing when they went out together—for some reason, the woman had a never-ending supply of outfits, all which were admittedly fashionable without Angela's help. She'd never quite understood it, but had liked to think that her influence over the years had been the cause.

When Brennan had been gone, though, all the excitement of finding a sale had gone out the window. Never had she noticed just how mediocre and ridiculous a new purse was when every day was a reminder and work was bound to be boring, repetitive, and depressing. Fisher wasn't even around anymore, but it didn't matter. Everyone might as well have bought a book on how to act like him, with the atmosphere that now existed at the Jeffersonian.

Hell, they could all write books of their own on the topic if the urge struck them.

She stopped in front of one window, reveling in the excitement that shot through her at the site of Gucci bags hanging on the arms of slender, silvery manikins. God, it felt good to be able to care about little things again. When Bren had been dead, she hadn't forgotten anything. She'd remembered all the details, and had known, each and every time she related a moment to the past, that she was making things worse. She'd known that she was making it harder and harder on herself to move on.

But some part of her that had been in denial had been determined to believe that it was actually better. Because she didn't _want_ to move on. She didn't want to forget, or get to a happy place. Because any happy place was still a happy place that didn't have Brennan in it. And that simply wasn't good enough.

All through her life, she'd never actually had friends. Sure, she'd tricked herself into believing it time after time. She'd felt close to those high school friends of hers that were into art and fashion and all the things that she liked. She'd talked for hours on the phone to many of them, laughing and joking and thoroughly believing that she would keep in touch with them after graduation.

She hadn't even gone to her ten year class reunion.

College had been better. Better by leaps and bounds, really. Where boys in her high school had been busy chasing wispy blondes, these fellow artists seemed to be fascinated by her free spirit and her skills.

In reality, she wasn't so far off-base from Brennan.

Her mother had skipped out when she was still too young to be able to form memories, and to this day she only knew what she looked like from a faded photograph she had found and stolen from the bottom of a box under her father's bed.

Friendships hadn't come easily, just as they hadn't for Brennan. There had been different reasoning—Brennan was isolated by her intelligence and her lack of social skills, Angela had been held at a distance by her overly-outgoing tendencies and her ability to overwhelm or alarm others.

And for both of them, college had been a rescue. For Brennan, it had meant escaping foster care, and for Angela it had meant finding a place where, at last, she fit in.

Through all those years, though, she hadn't found anyone that she could count on, in both relationships and friendships.

So it had been a shock to find herself becoming so attached to Brennan shortly after their first meeting. She had never _planned_ to find a best friend. Hell, she'd decided that it was safer not to because they, just like any boy, would eventually be a let down. And to be quite honest, it was far more challenging to get over a betrayal by a friend than it was to deal with one from a boy who was, really, an idiot to begin with.

At first, it had been a job. A relief, really, with all little work she'd been able to find. Paris had seemed so far away, then. Like a dream that she wouldn't ever get to. Not that she had ever planned on giving up on it... just that it had started to sound more and more daunting as her bank account dwindled lower and lower.

Brennan had pulled her out of that. Given her a place to come to every day to provide her talents. Skulls, murder, and an assortment of grisly things had almost made her run screaming during those earliest months... but something had held her there. She'd have liked to think, when she was alone with Hodgins and remembering those early times, that it had been because of him, because of some spark she hadn't realized at the time.

But she knew that it had been Brennan. She had struck a chord in her... like a reminder of the lonely artist girl she had been all that time ago. And Angela had always had a tendency to want to fix things. To help in any way she could. To make people hurt less, even if it meant getting hurt in the end herself.

Because that was always how it seemed to end.

But not this time.

And again, that had held her there. Because Brennan seemed just as desperate as she was, only not so obviously. Under a couple layers that it didn't take long for Angela to make note of. The woman was prickly as all hell on the surface, but wrapped up tight on the inside. Hiding things.

Ange had always had a problem with avoiding situations like this one, and for once it had worked in her favor. As much as Brennan had tried to fight her help, resist all forms of friendship she was offering, Angela could read the signs as clearly as if Brennan was speaking them out loud. She wanted help. Badly. She just didn't think it was _possible_ that the help could be real. And Angela was determined to show her that it was.

So maybe it was that she saw bits of herself reflected in Brennan, or maybe it was simply because they'd known each other so long, but Angela hadn't wanted to release her. As locked up as Brennan had always been, she knew that her friend wouldn't have forgotten her, if the situation had been reversed. And Brennan deserved to have people care about her, even if she was gone.

Now, she wasn't sure what would have happened if it had all been real, just as she didn't know what would have happened if Booth had truly died three years ago. And maybe she didn't _want_ to know.

That didn't stop her from wondering, though. She'd have had to moved on at some point. She _had_, to be honest, even if it had only been in small measure. But the changes had occurred. No one could mourn forever. She knew that.

What if Brennan was right?

What if, had her plan worked out, they had all gone on with their lives and gradually gone back to having fun and goofing off and throwing Jeffersonian parties? What if one day Booth had gone out and found someone new, and fallen in love, and gotten married? What if he had found a way to be happy, without Bren in his life?

The idea was almost ridiculous, but she couldn't _not_ entertain it. Because it was out there, and it _could_ have happened.

If the Hursts hadn't gone back to hunting Brennan again, if they'd covered their tracks a little better, she wouldn't even be having this line of thought. Because Bren would never have asked to see her again.

She would have never found out the truth.

She shivered at the idea, and found herself wondering, for the hundredth or so time, why Brennan had thought that was a good idea to begin with. She understood the fear, and she got the protective instinct, and she could even wrap her brain around the whole relation to the night Brennan had turned Booth down outside the Hoover building... but that didn't mean she understood. Not fully. Why would Brennan possibly think that a world without her in it would be _better_ for all of them? What drove her to that kind of a conclusion?

After all the years they'd known each other, Angela had been convinced she'd gotten far enough through her friend's defenses to convince her of her own value. She'd thought _Booth_ had gotten farther, to be honest, and had solidified that. Had made her realize that she was cared for deeply by everyone in their little makeshift family.

And yet she had still thought that the better world for them was the world without her in it.

She shook her head, turning away from the store window. Just like that, it had lost it's appeal as she fought through an internal blizzard of unanswered questions that she knew she'd never dare ask out loud.

What was it going to take for her to get through to Brennan?

For now, though, she would settle for lunch. Clearly Brennan had her own problems she wanted to discuss, from the way she had been so hesitant in asking for the meeting. She only did that when she was worried about asking things she was uncomfortable with. Angela knew that voice better than anything. So she was prepared, when she finally pushed open the door to the Founding Fathers and stepped in and out of the cold, for what she might be facing.

This could be any number of things, but the most likely was that it involved Booth. And Booth was her topic of specialty, especially when it was in relation to Brennan.

"Hey, Sweetie," she said nonchalantly as she hung her light jacket on the back of her chair and sat down. She tried not to think of any of the things that had been plaguing her on the way over as she asked, "Did you already order?"

"They just seated me a minute ago; I told them I was expecting someone else to join me. Assumably they won't approach us for a while."

She nodded and reached for the menu, even though she had no intention of ordering anything but her usual. But, it would give her a nice distraction, and an opportunity to size up the situation. Especially since Brennan was busy perusing for what to order herself.

She glanced over the top of the two panel list of dishes and took in Brennan's appearance as nondescriptly as the could manage. Her friend didn't look at all bothered, except for a crease between her eyebrows as she read through the menu, but Angela saw a bit deeper than that. Brennan had been crying. Recently, in fact, and she'd tried to make up for it by adding _another_ layer of makeup to the already thick amount she'd applied. She wasn't sure which would be worse, to be honest—if Brennan decided to keep up this façade of a screen, or if she just dropped it all together. As much as it pained Angela to see her friend's scars, it almost hurt more to see the way she was so determined to hide them, and so self-conscious of the way she looked.

She'd only been there for a minute, and she'd already seen Brennan check her reflection in the wall-length mirror at the back of the restaurant twice. It wasn't a vain thing, either. It was more a fear in Brennan's eyes when she did it... like she was afraid that when she next looked, she'd find the scars burning there in front of her, visible to everyone.

There had been no mirrors in that cabin, something that hadn't escaped Angela's notice, and now the only mirror Brennan owned was the one in her bathroom, which she assumably used to thoroughly assure herself that she had enough makeup on.

She didn't even want to imagine what Brennan went through every day.

They ordered a moment later, and then sat in silence, their menus now taken from them and no shield left for Angela to hold up while she considered what to say. Before, she wouldn't have had a problem with this. She would have coaxed the problem out of Brennan with a lot of nudging and prodding, and then found a way to solve it or at least make sure her friend was armed with proper advice. But now everything was upside-down. It was hard to be so fiercely loyal to her friend when she still felt a slight sting of betrayal at the thought of what Brennan had done. It was also hard not to want to side with Booth whenever Brennan mentioned anything to her.

To her surprise, though, Brennan started speaking while she was still wondering how to begin the process.

"I'm worried that Booth is lying to himself."

Her eyebrows shot up, and she finally managed the force out, "What do you mean?"

Bren sighed, biting her lip for a second before launching forward again, almost as if she couldn't keep it bottled inside anymore. "I believe he's under the impression that he can make things return to normal... the way they were before last year happened."

She honestly had no idea what to say in response to that, and was immensely relieved when it became aware that Brennan wasn't _expecting_ a response. She only paused briefly, in fact, before she started up again.

"I never wanted him to get hurt, and apparently he feels the same way towards me. Except he seems preoccupied by my physical safety over all else." Another short moment, this one fraught with hesitation, and then, "He didn't want me to return as his partner," she murmured.

Angela blinked a few times, and then said, "Sweetie... you do realize you just came back from the dead, don't you?"

Brennan flinched as if she'd been stung, and at once Angela found herself regretting the words.

"That's basically what he told me. And I don't... I don't _understand_."

"Booth's gotten a taste of what it's like to live _without_ you," she attempted. "Which really wasn't living so much as walking around like the living _dead_. I'm sorry Bren, but... please don't think that I'd be okay with you running out into gunfights at this point either. If you got yourself killed, and I mean _really_ killed, then I might have to bring you back and strangle you. Because none of us, _none_ of us, could get through that again. Especially not Booth."

Brennan was silent for a long moment, and then she suddenly grabbed for her coat, clearly intent on fleeing the restaurant.

"Whoa!" Angela choked out, jumping to her feet at the same moment and pushing Brennan back into her chair by her shoulders.

"Let go of me," Brennan demanded, her eyes flashing dangerously as she jerked her shoulders away from her friend's grasp and once more made to leave, her motions rushed and jerky.

"Bren," Ange said, her voice doing what physical force hadn't been capable of. Brennan froze with one arm half-shoved into the arm of her coat, her eyes closed as if she was trying to mentally will Angela to shut up and let her leave. Well, that wasn't happening. "You can't run from this. If you want to talk about it, and figure out how to get through to Booth, then I can help you. I _want_ to help you. I'm still your best friend, sweetie. Even if I might not be in agreement with you about some things at the moment."

Cautiously, Brennan dropped her coat back into its spot on the back of the chair, and slowly sank back down onto the seat, not meeting her eyes.

"Thank you," Ange said softly, and Brennan gave a quick nod, meeting her eyes for a fleeting moment.

"I don't know what to do," she said at last, when Angela remained silent.

It was a start, and one she was grateful for.

"Well, first off, why don't you try explaining to me what's going on?"

"I'm afraid that Booth won't understand my reasoning."

Angela frowned. "How much have you told him?" She had a fairly good idea, from her talk with Booth, but she wanted to hear Brennan's side, and get an idea of how much Brennan _thought_ she'd made clear. Sometimes there was a big difference between what she'd said and what she claimed she'd said.

"I tried to explain that I had wanted to protect all of you, because Cullen had given that to me as a reason to keep me from making contact, but he became... frustrated with me. And then he was angry when I mentioned returning to our partnership, which... confuses me."

"Why?" She needed to know everything before she started clearing the waters.

Brennan sighed. "Because... I thought he would want to go back to everything being the way it was. From the way he'd been acting before that moment... that was the impression I got. And now I'm not sure what to do, because _now_ he's acting like it's perfectly fine."

"He probably had a change of heart, sweetie. You can see how the idea of you going back into the field would be scary for him, can't you? I mean... I remember how you felt about Booth going back into action after he came back from the dead."

She shifted her eyes away again, staring resolutely at the floor.

Their salads arrived, the waitress cheerfully asking if they needed anything else, completely unaware of the tension crackling from Brennan. Angela shook her head and offered a forced smile.

When she was gone, she leaned forward again and said quickly, "Bren, you do understand, I can see that. Booth is trying to adjust to having you back after all this time. He'll come around... well, clearly he's already _started_ to come around... but that's not the point. The point is that things aren't going to go back to normal. Not entirely. And you know that as well as I do."

Her friend still wasn't meeting her eyes, and she sighed.

"Sweetie."

Her head lifted slightly, and her gaze pierced her, filled with a mixture of emotions so strong that she almost had to look away. Sometimes Brennan had the ability to blow her mind with the strength that she felt things with.

"This is exactly why I didn't want to come back," she murmured, and her words, soft and filled with pain, tore at Angela's heart.

She wanted to hug her, but somehow she knew that would be a bad idea, and not just because they were in a public place. Something told her Brennan would not have wanted the gesture right then. They still needed to talk.

"I don't care what you think right now, Bren. Coming back _is_ the best thing that could have happened. You've got a chance now. A chance to change what happened."

"That's impossible," she answered automatically.

"I know. But you can start towards something that didn't work out last time. And this time you _can_ make it work."

She was shaking her head, though. "That's not going to happen. I've told you before, more than once. I will not romantically involve myself with Booth."

"Why, though? I mean... what is _wrong_ with that idea?"

Brennan's eye flashed. "A lot of things, Ange. Besides, there's no way to erase what has happened. None of you are ever going to forget what I did, even if you pretend that you have."

The implication stung. "I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you, Bren. I don't hate you for what you did."

"But you also don't understand. And if you've forgiven me but don't understand, then there's no way Booth will ever do either."

"That is... really messed up logic, Bren. Especially for you."

Their meals arrived then, and they fell silent as they began eating, glad for the brief distraction. So far this lunch had not been a very positive sign for Angela that things were going to get better.

If anything, it had shown her just how long the road ahead was.

**A/N: Just because it says that doesn't mean the road is actually long. Relax, haha. Still a few bumps ahead, but not much longer. At least, not by my standards :X**

**Also, I'm doing horrible with meeting deadlines. My other two stories - *shameless plug* In the Worst of Times and Always All For You - take up a lot of my time, and I'm still usually behind on them and rushing at the last minute. So, my apologies... but the updates may not actually be regular like I was promising. I've got up to Chapter 38 written. So, for now I'll try to keep with the Monday and Friday schedule. But, depending on how things look when I start at the university in about two weeks (yikes, just two weeks?) I might not be able to keep with it. These chapters are shorter than my other stories' though, so who knows? I might be able to pull off a bunch in a row if I really got myself into it. **

**But yeah, I'm making excuses. And rambling. **

**So, anyways... leave feedback on your way out, please? :D**


	35. Wading Through

_Chapter 34: Wading Through  
_

_May 22__nd__, 2011_

The past few days had been tense. If Hodgins had been expecting things to get better because she was alive... well, he'd been wrong.

He tried to ignore the fact that Angela was zoning out on him, but it was becoming more and more apparent with every passing day. It was better than when Brennan had been dead, yes, but it still hurt to see that there lives were so affected, and that things weren't improving.

Ange spent all her time worrying. Through the past year, it had been worries about the future, worries about Booth, worries about their happiness, worries about finding justice, worries about being a good friend even though Brennan was gone...

And now she was worrying about Brennan _still_. Worrying about her getting back to work, worrying about her relationship with Booth, worrying about her staying safe and alive.

Through it all, he tried to stay supportive. He was as much Brennan's friend as any of them, and he had grown closer to her through the years. It would have been impossible not to, with the Gravedigger and then the fact that he'd fallen in love with her best friend. The fact that Brennan had approved of their relationship had been key, and while Angela would probably never admit it, he knew it for a fact.

So he'd been as happy and relieved as the rest of them when the news had come crashing down that she was alive. If it had come from anyone but Angela, while they all gathered together in that hospital lobby, he wouldn't have dared to believe it. But he had, and when they had finally all seen her with their own eyes, the reality had only further settled in.

But while Angela had practically collapsed with joy, and had been all over making sure Brennan was okay, that everything was okay, Hodgins had sat back and observed the damage.

Sure, she was alive. Which meant that now there wouldn't be any more grieving, any more conversations about loss and loneliness late at night. And it meant that maybe Angela might be ready to start a family.

Despite all that, though, he couldn't help feeling the stirrings of spite in the back of his heart. He cared for Brennan deeply, but Angela came first. She always came first. To find out that she was alive after a year of suffering through grief and dragging his wife out of countless nightmares... he couldn't help but hate her a little bit. What gave her the right, regardless of her troubled past and her many walls, to do this to them? To do this to _Angela?_

And she just bounced back into their lives, announced that she _hadn't_ _wanted_ to come back, and dragged Angela into _more_ of her problems.

Didn't she understand that Angela had been through hell and back, more than once, in just the past year? Didn't she realize that maybe Booth had a goddamned good point when he ignored her and yelled at her? Because he'd heard all of it from Angela. All the problems, spilled from both Brennan and Booth onto her shoulders and then dumped over to him in the hours after they returned home to work, so he could wade through them and try to help _her_ help _them._

When in reality he just wished they'd butt out for once.

He knew it was mildly selfish, and he even hated that he felt the way he did... but he was tired. So tired of having his life with Angela run by Brennan, dead or alive. He wanted things to be the way they had been, with Brennan and Booth dealing with their own issues, and Angela gleefully intervening as she saw fit, filling him in on the details later with sparkling eyes before they returned to their own lives.

Because a long time ago, they had _had_ lives that were their _own_.

And nowadays he really wanted to just scream at Brennan for all the things she had done and was still doing to all of them, but especially to Angela.

Why did his wife have to be such a good friend?

He sighed, and leaned back into the couch. He'd be kidding himself if he didn't say he loved it about her. At the same time, though, he did have to wish Brennan would be a bit of a good friend back every once in a while.

Maybe once Brennan was back at work—If it actually happened—things would run a little smoother. He doubted it, but he had to let himself have a little hope. Because at least then Angela wouldn't have to take time to spend with her so much. They'd be seeing each other every day just like before.

But as it was, Cam was still working through the paperwork, and apparently fighting with the administrators about the necessity of a third forensic anthropologist on the payroll. The argument was that she was far more qualified than the other two, to which she'd gotten the emailed response of 'Then fire one of the other ones, if you really want her on your team.'

They all knew that Cam would never do that, though, and so the past few days had passed in relative combative style. Cam was in a foul mood this morning, for one, and just about everyone else seemed to follow suit.

It had become fairly obvious as the day passed that the problem was not getting resolved any time soon. If anything, it seemed that they were getting farther from it working out.

And then the bombshell just as they were leaving—Brennan could come back to work. But only if she re-established the connection between the Jeffersonian and the FBI. Otherwise, there was no way the administrators above Cam would agree to hire her.

So there was a chance that things would work out. A chance similar to that of a snowball in July. From everything Angela had spilled to him, he knew only too well that Booth didn't want her back in the field.

Angela was gone, now, to see Brennan and break the news.

And that meant that when she returned, he was going to hear all about it. Because Brennan would be upset, and would probably decide not to come back at all, and then Angela would be upset, and she'd come home and they'd spend another long night discussing Booth and Brennan's issues rather than just enjoying each others' company.

When the doorknob turned and his wife stepped in, shaking the rain out of her curls, he was surprised by her expression.

She didn't seem upset at all. If anything, she seemed thrilled.

"How'd it go?" he asked, patting the cushion next to him. She dropped heavily into it, sighing in relief as she kicked off her shoes.

"Oddly well," she answered with a grin, letting her head roll back into the cushion behind her, and closing her eyes as a soft smile played across her lips. "She had no problem with it. None whatsoever. In fact, I think she was _happy_ about it."

"What?" he gaped. That was... unexpected.

"I know, right? This is the first good sign she's given me... I think maybe she's hoping that Booth will agree to let her in the field if it's the only way she'll get her job back."

And there it was.

"So she's going to play that card, then?"

"It's not a bad thing, Jack," she defended, "This might push them back together... make them realize that things aren't so out of reach after all. Obviously Brennan wants to be around him. And he wants to work things out, even if he doesn't know how right now. If they get back to their old routine, she'll open up to him."

He tried not to roll his eyes. "Angie, it's not going to work like that, and we both know it."

She sighed and set her jaw in frustration. "So... what, then? Do you think they should just give up?"

"I never said that. I just said that it's not going to work out like that. For one thing, nothing's going to be _really_ cleared between them until she gives _all_ of us a good explanation for why she did what she did."

"This isn't about Booth, is it? This is about you still holding a grudge against her."

He'd have been fine with just about anything else she could have said. He loved her enough to deal with her obsession with fixing things between her friends. But he wasn't going to stay silent when he had a few points that needed to be made. For some reason, he felt that he needed to stand up for his other friend in this situation.

"Don't you think that Booth's been through enough already, without having to deal with worrying about her welfare every day on the job as well?"

She frowned, but he saw that he'd gotten through, and so he pushed on.

"This isn't going to solve anything. It's just going to mess the poor guy up even more, because he's still got this ridiculous inclination to do anything and everything for her, even after the hell she dragged him through... which she _still_ hasn't had the decency to explain to him."

Just like that, Angela's eyes were alight with fire again.

"Brennan has her reasons, Jack. And you're making me out to be the bad guy here, when I've got _both_ their interests in mind."

"Have you ever thought that maybe if you didn't involve yourself, they'd figure it out on their _own?"_

She was taken aback by that one, and she blinked a few times before her eyes hardened, and she got up from the couch and vanished, her footfalls heavy on the wooden stairs.

He groaned and buried his face in a pillow, letting out a muffled scream before he let his head fall back again.

Well, he'd royally screwed that one up.

But what he'd said _had_ been fairly necessary. He hoped she'd realize that at some point tonight, or at the very least by the next morning.

It just seemed like she was trying too hard. Wearing herself down with their troubles until they consumed her. And she didn't deserve that, not from them. If she took a step back, maybe Brennan would figure out that she just had to be honest with Booth, and he'd take over from there. His main problem with Brennan wasn't that she'd lied, truthfully. It was more that she hadn't explained herself. Brennan always had good reasons for her actions. Logical, yes, and sometimes overly so, but always within the rights of her own reasoning, and for that he could hardly blame her. So if she had told them all why she'd decided to disappear from their lives, he'd be much more inclined to forgive her. And he knew the same went for Booth, and the rest of the team as well.

He just didn't want Angela to keep getting disappointed when things didn't work out. He wanted her to be happy... and if that meant being less involved in Brennan's issues, then so be it.

Only hesitating slightly, he got to his feet and followed the path she'd taken, knowing all too well that there was every chance he would be unwelcome in their bedroom tonight.

But when he arrived, she was sitting on the edge of the bed looking rather dejected.

"Sorry," she said, looking up to meet his eyes as he paused in the doorway. "I didn't mean to storm off on you," she added, her eyes twinkling with just a bit of rueful humor.

"Not a problem," he said lightly, moving to join her, and intertwining their fingers as he sat down beside her on the mattress. "She's your best friend, I get that. And you have a bit of a blind spot when it comes to her."

"I do," she agreed heavily. "I don't know if I _can_ step back, though, Jack. She had no clue what she's doing... and if this whole idea of her going back to being his partner falls through, then I don't know what I'm going to do with her. She needs him."

"And he needs her," he added. "I know. And if they are really meant to happen, then they will. Eventually."

"Oh God," Angela whispered after a long pause. "What if she gets herself hurt, Jack? What if something happens? I mean... is she even _ready_ to go back to work? She acts like she is... but I mean... so much has changed..."

"Maybe you should ask Sweets for some help." At the look she cast him, he hurriedly added, "With them, I mean. He should evaluate them, to make sure they're actually capable of working safely with each other. Then maybe you'd feel a little better about Brennan heading back into the field. He knows what he's doing... and he's not even really twelve anymore."

That earned a small smile.

"You've got a good point, there. I'll mention it to Cam tomorrow... she can make it mandatory or whatever."

"See? One less reason to worry about them."

"I don't think I'll ever stop worrying about them," she murmured, shaking her head.

"Well, hopefully we can find a happy place, and start... focusing more of our efforts on our own problems."

"Problems?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Situations," he corrected calmly. "Like... starting a family, for instance."

She bit her lip, and he knew that he shouldn't have brought it up. Not tonight.

"I don't want to talk about it now," she said at last, giving him a serious look that told him to drop it. Nodding silently, he resigned himself to knowing that there was nothing doing in that category for a long while to come.

He gave her hand a quick squeeze, and then slid himself off of the bed. "I'm going to take a quick shower. Get some sleep."

She bit her lip again, and he paused in the doorway to their master bathroom, waiting for her to say whatever it was that she was tossing around in her head.

"I think I'll... wait up for you," she said at last, and he couldn't help the wide grin that spread across his face. Not nearly as forthcoming as she could be when she wanted to be, but he got the message. Humming to himself and feeling relieved that he'd dodged the bullet and managed to express his opinions without destroying the entire night, he shut the bathroom door behind him.

Maybe all hope wasn't lost after all.


End file.
